The Old World and Its Ways

This volume is published in response to numerous requests from many sections, and my purpose is to put in permanent and convenient form the observations made during travels in the old world.

The illustrations will throw light on the subjects treated and it is believed will add much to the interest. The photographs from which they were made were collected at the places visited or taken by members of our party. Chapters one to forty-six were written from time to time during the trip around the world.

I was accompanied on this tour by my wife and our two younger children, William J., Jr., and Grace, aged sixteen and fourteen years respectively. The trip was taken for educational purposes and proved far more instructive than we anticipated.

We left our home September 21, 1905, sailed from San Francisco September 27, and arrived in New York August 29, 1906—the day before the date fixed for the home-coming reception in that city—and reached Lincoln September 5, sixteen days less than a year after our departure.

While most of our travel was in the North Temperate Zone, we were below the Equator a few days in Java and above the Arctic Circle in Norway.

In this narrative I fear I have sacrificed literary style to conciseness, for I have endeavored to condense and crowd into the space as much information as possible. The statement of facts may be relied on, being based either upon observations gathered at first hand from persons worthy to be trusted, or taken from authoritative writings.

Mrs. Bryan assisted me in the collection of materials and the preparation of the matter, and I am also indebted to the American Ambassadors, Ministers and Consuls, as well as to the officials of the countries which were visited, for valuable information.

I have included a series of articles written during a former visit to Europe in 1902. As I have avoided in the World Tour Narratives the subjects treated in these previous European articles, the two series are appropriately published together.

All of these are published with the more pleasure because I believe they will give the reader increased admiration for American institutions and a larger confidence in the triumph of American Ideals.

WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN

Lincoln, Nebraska, 1907

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There is rest in an ocean voyage. The receding shores shut out the hum of the busy world; the expanse of water soothes the eye by its very vastness; the breaking of the waves is music to the ear and there is medicine for the nerves in the salt sea breezes that invite to sleep. At first one is disturbed—sometimes quite so—by the motion of the vessel, but this passes away so completely that before many days the dipping of the ship is really enjoyable and one finds a pleasure in ascending the hills and descending the valleys into which the deck sometimes seems to be converted.

If one has regarded the Pacific as an unknown or an untraversed sea, the impression will be removed by a glance at a map recently published by the United States government—a map with which every ocean traveler should equip himself. On this map the Pacific is covered with blue lines indicating the shortest routes of travel between different points with the number of miles. The first thing that strikes one is that the curved line indicating the northern route between San Francisco and Yokohama is only 4,536 miles long, while the apparently straight line between the two points is 4,791 miles long—the difference being explained by the curvature of the earth, although it is hard to believe that in following the direct line a ship would have to climb over such a mountain range of water, so to speak, as to make it shorter to go ten degrees north. The time between the United States and the Japanese coast has recently been reduced to less than eleven days, but the northern route is not so pleasant at this season of the year, and we sailed on the Manchuria, September 27, going some twenty degrees farther south via Honolulu. This route covers 5,545 miles and is made in about sixteen days when the weather is good.

The Manchuria is one of the leviathans of the Pacific and is owned by Mr. Harriman, president of the Union Pacific and Southern Pacific Railways. The ship's crew suggests the Orient, more than three-fourths being Chinese, all wearing the cue and the national garb. There is also a suggestion of the Orient in the joss house and opium den of the Chinese in the steerage.

In crossing the one hundred and eightieth meridian we lost a day, and as we are going all the way around, we cannot recover it as those can who recross the Pacific. We rose on Saturday morning, October 7, and at nine o'clock were notified that Sunday had begun and the remainder of the day was observed as the Sabbath (October 8).

According to the chart or map referred to there are three centers of ocean traffic in the Pacific. Honolulu, the most important of all, the Midway Islands, 1,160 miles northwest of Honolulu, and the Samoan Islands, some twenty-two hundred miles to the south. The Society Islands, about the same distance to the southeast of Honolulu, and Guam, some fifteen hundred miles from the mainland of Asia, are centers of less importance.

Our ship reached Honolulu early on the morning of the sixth day out and we had breakfast on the island. The Hawaiian Islands (inhabited) number eight and extend from the southeast to the northwest, covering about six degrees of longitude and nearly four of latitude. Of these eight islands, Hawaii, the southernmost one, is the largest, having an area of 4,200 square miles and a population of nearly fifty thousand. Hilo, its chief city, situated on the east shore, is the second Hawaiian city of importance and contains some seven thousand inhabitants. The island of Oahu, upon which Honolulu is situated, is third in size but contains the largest population, almost sixty thousand, of which forty thousand dwell in or near the capital. The islands are so small and surrounded by such an area of water as to remind one of a toy land, and yet there are great mountains there, one piercing the clouds at a height of 14,000 feet. Immense cane fields stretch as far as the eye can reach, and busy people of different colors and races make a large annual addition to our country's wealth. On one of the islands is an active volcano which furnishes a thrilling experience to those who are hardy enough to ascend its sides and cross the lava lake, now grown cold, which surrounds the present crater. Each island has one or more extinct volcanoes, one of these, called "The Punch Bowl," being within the city limits of Honolulu. On one of the islands is a leper colony, containing at times as many as a thousand of the afflicted. During campaigns the spellbinders address the voters from boats anchored at a safe distance from the shore.

As the Manchuria lay at anchor in the harbor all day the passengers went ashore and, dividing into groups, inspected the various places of interest. By the aid of a reception committee, composed of democrats, republicans and brother Elks, we were able to crowd a great deal of instruction and enjoyment into the ten hours which we spent in Honolulu. We were greeted at the wharf with the usual salutation, Aloha, a native word which means "a loving welcome," and were decorated with garlands of flowers for the hat and neck. While these garlands or leis (pronounced lays) are of all colors, orange is the favorite hue, being the color of the feather cloak worn by the Hawaiian kings and queens in olden times. The natives are a very kindly and hospitable people, and we had an opportunity to meet some excellent specimens of the race at the public reception and the country residence of Mr. Damon, one of the leading bankers of the island.

When the islands were discovered in 1778 by Captain Cook, the natives lived in thatched huts and were scantily clothed, after the manner of the tropical races. They were not savages or cannibals, but maintained a degree of civil order and had made considerable progress in the primitive arts. In their religious rites they offered human sacrifices, but they welcomed the white man and quickly embraced Christianity. American influence in the islands reaches back some seventy-five years, beginning with New England missionaries, many of whose descendants have made permanent homes here. Some of these, mingling their blood with the blood of the natives, form connecting links between the old and the new civilization. Foreign ways and customs soon began to manifest themselves and long before annexation the native rulers built buildings after the style of our own architecture. The Capitol building, erected twenty years ago for the king's palace, is an imposing structure, and the Judiciary building is almost equal to it. The parks and public grounds are beautiful and well kept, and the business blocks commodious and substantial. In short, Honolulu presents the appearance of a well built, cleanly and prosperous American city, with its residences nestling among palm trees and tropical plants. Good hotels are abundant. The Alexander Young hotel is built of stone imported from the States and would do credit to a city of half a million. The Royal Hawaiian hotel, even more picturesque, though not so large, and the Moana hotel, at the beach, vie with the Young in popularity.

The program for our day's stay began with a seven mile automobile ride to the Pali, the pass over which the natives cross to the farther side of the island. The road is of macadam and winding along a picturesque valley rises to a height of about 1,200 feet. At this point the eye falls upon a picture of bewitching beauty. Just below is a precipitous cliff over which a conquering king, Kamehameha the First, about one hundred and ten years ago, drove an opposing army when he established himself as ruler of the islands. To the east from the foot of the cliff, a thousand feet down, stretches a beautiful valley with an endless variety of verdure; and beyond, a coast line broken by a rocky promontory, around whose base the waters reflect from their varying depths myriad hues of blue and green. There are ocean views of greater expanse, mountain views more sublime and agricultural landscapes more interesting to a dweller upon prairies, but it is doubtful whether there is anywhere upon earth a combination of mountain, valley and ocean—a commingling of the colors of sky and sea and rock and foliage—more entrancing. Twice on the way to Pali we passed through mountain showers and were almost ready to turn back, but the members of the committee, knowing of the rare treat ahead, assured us that Hawaiian showers were of short duration and "extra dry." When we at last beheld the view, we felt that a drenching might gladly have been endured, so great was the reward.

The committee next took us by special train on the Oahu railroad to one of the great sugar plantations of the island, a plantation outside of the trust, owned and operated by a San Francisco company. This company has built an immense refinery upon the plantation and the manager showed us the process of sugar making from the crushing of the cane to the refined product, sacked ready for shipment.

The stalks, after passing through the mill, are dried and carried to the furnace, thus saving some sixty-five per cent of the cost of fuel—an important economy when it is remembered that all the fuel for manufacturing is brought from abroad. Until recently, several hundred thousand dollars' worth of coal was annually brought from Australia, but California oil is now being substituted for coal. The refuse which remains when the sugar making process is completed is returned to the land as fertilizer. The economies effected in fuel and in fertilizer, together with the freight saved on impurities carried in the raw sugar, amount to a considerable sum and to this extent increase the profit of the business. While at the sugar plantation we were shown an immense pumping plant used in the irrigation of the land. The water is drawn from artesian wells and forced to a height of almost six hundred feet, in some places, and from the summits of the hills is carried to all parts of the plantation. Some idea of the size of the plants can be gathered from the fact that the pumps used on this plantation have a combined capacity of sixty million gallons per day.

Speaking of irrigation, I am reminded that the rainfall varies greatly in different parts of the island. At Honolulu, for instance, it is something like thirty inches per year, while at one point within five miles of the city the annual rainfall sometimes reaches one hundred and forty inches. The sugar plantation visited, while one of the largest, is only one of a number of plantations, the total sugar product of the islands reaching about four hundred thousand tons annually.

Next to the sugar crops comes the rice crop, many of the rice fields lying close to the city. Pineapples, bananas, coffee and cocoanuts are also raised. Attention is being given now to the development of crops which can be grown by small planters, those in authority recognizing the advantage to the country of small holdings.

The labor problem is the most serious one which the people of Hawaii have to meet. At present the manual labor is largely done by Japanese, Chinese and Koreans—these together considerably outnumbering the whites and natives. Several thousand Portuguese have been brought to the islands and have proven an excellent addition to the population. On the day that we were there the immigration commission authorized the securing of a few Italian families with a view of testing their fitness for the climate. The desire is to develop a homogeneous population suited to the conditions and resources of the islands.

We returned from the sugar plantation in automobiles, stopping at the country home of Mr. Damon, which was once a royal habitation. The present owner has collected many relics showing the life, habits and arts of the native Hawaiians.

Still nearer the town we visited two splendid schools, one for native boys, the other for native girls, built from the funds left by native chiefs. The boys and girls were drawn up in front of one of the buildings and under the direction of their instructor sang the national anthem of the natives, now preserved as the territorial hymn. They were a finely proportioned, well dressed and intelligent group and are said to be studious and excellently behaved. Nothing on the islands interested us more than these native children, illustrating as they do, not only the possibilities of their race, but the immense progress made in a little more than a hundred years of contact with the whites. The museum, the gift of Mr. Bishop, now of California, who married the widow of one of the native chiefs, is said to contain the best collection of the handiwork of the natives of the Pacific Islands to be found anywhere.

The public reception at the Royal Hawaiian hotel gave us an opportunity to meet not only the prominent American and native citizens and their wives, but a large number of the artisans and laborers of the various races, and we were pleased to note throughout the day the harmonious feeling which exists between the whites and the brown population.

Political convictions produce the same results here as in the United States, sometimes dividing families. For instance, Prince Cupid, the present territorial representative in congress, is a republican, while his brother, Prince David, is an enthusiastic democrat. The luncheon prepared by the committee included a number of native dishes cooked according to the recipes which were followed for hundreds of years before the white man set foot upon the island. The health of the guests was drunk in cocoanut water, a nut full of which stood at each plate. Poi, the staple food of the natives, was present in abundance. This is made from a root or tuber known as taro, which grows in swamps and has a leaf resembling our plant, commonly known as elephant's ear. This tuber is ground to a pulp resembling paste and is served in polished wooden bowls, in the making of which the natives exhibit great skill. Next in interest came the fish and chicken, wrapped in the leaves of a plant called ti (pronounced like tea) and cooked underground by means of hot stones. The flavor of food thus cooked is excellent. The crowning glory of the feast was a roasted pig, also cooked underground—and a toothsome dish it was. Besides these, there were bread fruit, alligator pears and delicacies made from the meat of the cocoanut. The salt, a native product, was salmon colored. The invited guests were about equally divided between the American and native population. But for the elegant surroundings of the Young hotel, the beautifully appointed table and the modern dress, it was such a dinner as might have been served by the natives to the whites on the first Thanksgiving after the New England missionaries landed.

After a call upon Governor Carter, a descendant of the third generation from missionary stock, we visited the aquarium. When we noticed on the printed program that we were scheduled for a visit to this place, it did not impress us as possessing special interest, but we had not been in the building long before we were all roaring with laughter at the remarkable specimens of the finny tribe here collected.

Language can not do this subject justice. No words can accurately portray what one here sees. The fish are odd in shape and have all the hues of the rainbow. The tints are laid on as if with a brush and yet no painter could imitate these—shall we call them "pictures in water color?" Some were long and slim; some short and thick. One had a forehead like a wedge, another had a very blunt nose. Some looked like thin slabs of pearl with iridescent tints; others had quills like a porcupine. One otherwise respectable looking little fellow had a long nose upon the end of which was a fiery glow which made him look like an old toper; another of a deep peacock blue had a nose for all the world like a stick of indigo which it wiggled as it swam.

There were convict fish with stripes like those worn in penitentiaries and of these there were all sizes; some moving about slowly and solemnly like hardened criminals and others sporting about as if enjoying their first taste of wrongdoing. One variety wore what looked like an orange colored ribbon tied just above the tail; the color was so like the popular flower of Hawaii that we were not surprised to find that the fish was called the lei. In one tank the fish had a habit of resting upon the rocks; they would brace themselves with their fins and watch the passersby. At one time two were perched side by side and recalled the familiar picture of Raphael's Cherubs. Besides the fishes there were crabs of several varieties, all brilliant in color; one called the hermit crab had a covering like velvet, with as delicate a pattern as ever came from the loom. And, then, there was the octopus with the under side of its arms lined with valve-like mouths. It was hiding under the rocks, and when the attendant poked it out with a stick, it darkened the water with an inky fluid, recalling the use made of the subsidized American newspapers by the trust when attacked.

No visitor to Honolulu should fail to see the aquarium. Every effort to transport these fish has thus far failed. To enjoy the dudes, clowns and criminals of fishdom one must see them in their native waters.

The tour of the island closed with a trip to the beach and a ride in the surf boats. The native boat is a long, narrow, deep canoe steadied by a log fastened at both ends to the boat and floating about ten feet from the side. These canoes will hold six or seven persons and are propelled by brawny-armed natives. Our party clad themselves in bathing suits and, filling three canoes, were rowed out some distance from the shore. The natives, expert at this sport, watch for a large wave and signal each other when they see one approaching, and then with their big round paddles they start their canoes toward the land. As the wave raises the stern of the canoe, they bend to their work, the purpose being to keep the canoe on the forward slope of the wave. It is an exciting experience to ride thus, with the spray breaking over one while the canoe flies along before the wave. Sometimes the boatmen are too slow and the wave sweeps under the canoe and is gone, but as a rule they know just how fast to work, and there is great rivalry between the surf riders when two or more crews are racing. It is strange that a form of sport so delightful has not been transported to the American seaside resorts. There is surf bathing the year round at Honolulu and few beaches can be found which can compare with Waikiki.

The Oahu railroad, which carried us out to the sugar plantation, and which has seventy miles of track on the island, passes within sight of the Pearl harbor, which is the only large inlet in the islands capable of being developed into a harbor. The United States government is already dredging this harbor and preparing it for both naval and commercial uses. The Hawaiian Islands occupy a strategic position as well as a position of great commercial importance, and as they are on a direct line between the Isthmus of Panama and the Orient, their value as a mid-ocean stopping place will immeasurably increase. The islands being now United States territory, the advantage of the possession of Pearl harbor is accompanied by a responsibility for its proper improvement. No one can visit the harbor without appreciating its importance to our country and to the world.

When we departed from the wharf at nightfall to board the Manchuria we were again laden with flowers, and as we left the island, refreshed by the perfume of flowers and cheered by songs and farewells, we bore away grateful memories of the day and of the hospitality of the people. Like all who see this Pacific paradise, we resolved to return sometime and spend a part of a winter amid its beauties.

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The eyes of the world are on Japan. No other nation has ever made such progress in the same length of time, and at no time in her history has Japan enjoyed greater prestige than she enjoys just now; and, it may be added, at no time has she had to face greater problems than those which now confront her.

We were fortunate in the time of our arrival. Baron Komura, the returning peace commissioner, returned two days later; the naval review celebrating the new Anglo-Japanese alliance took place in Yokohama harbor a week afterward, and this was followed next day by the reception of Admiral Togo at Tokyo. These were important events and they gave a visitor an extraordinary opportunity to see the people en masse. In this article I shall deal in a general way with Japan and her people, leaving for future articles her history, her government, her politics, her industries, her art, her education and her religions.

The term Japan is a collective title applied to four large islands, that is, Honshiu, Kyushu, Shikoku, Hokkaido and about six hundred smaller ones. Formosa and the islands immediately adjoining it are not generally included, although since the Chinese war they belong to Japan.

Japan extends in the shape of a crescent, curving toward the northeast, from fifty north latitude and one hundred and fifty-six east longitude to twenty-one degrees north latitude and one hundred and nineteen east longitude. The area is a little less than one hundred and sixty thousand square miles, more than half of which is on the island of Honshiu. The coast line is broken by numerous bays furnishing commodious harbors, the most important of which are at Yokohama, Osaka, Kobe, Nagasaki, Kagoshima and Hakodate. The islands are so mountainous that only about one-twelfth the area is capable of cultivation. Although Formosa has a mountain, Mt. Niitaka (sometimes called Mt. Morrison) which is two thousand feet higher, Fujiyama is the highest mountain in Japan proper. It reaches a height of 12,365 feet.

Fuji (Yama is the Japanese word for mountain) is called the Sacred Mountain and is an object of veneration among the Japanese. And well it may be, for it is doubtful if there is on earth a more symmetrical mountain approaching it in height. Rising in the shape of a perfect cone, with its summit crowned with snow throughout nearly the entire year and visible from sea level, it is one of the most sublime of all the works of nature. Mt. Ranier, as they say at Seattle, or Tacoma, as it is called in the city of that name, and Popocatapetl, near Mexico's capital, are the nearest approach to Fuji, so far as the writer's observation goes. Pictures of Fuji are to be found on everything; they are painted on silk, embroidered on screens, worked on velvet, carved in wood and wrought in bronze and stone. We saw it from Lake Hakone, a beautiful sheet of water some three thousand feet above the ocean. The foot hills which surround the lake seem to open at one point in order to give a more extended view of the sloping sides of this sleeping giant.

And speaking of Hakone, it is one of the beauty spots of Japan. On an island in this lake is the summer home of the crown prince. Hakone is reached by a six-mile ride from Miyanoshita, a picturesque little village some sixty miles west of Yokohama. There are here hot springs and all the delights of a mountain retreat. One of the best modern hotels in Japan, the Fujiya, is located here, and one of its earliest guests was General Grant when he made his famous tour around the world. The road from the hotel to Hakone leads by foaming mountain streams, through closely cultivated valleys and over a range from which the coast line can be seen.

Nikko, about a hundred miles north of Tokyo, and Nara about thirty miles from Kyoto, are also noted for their natural scenery, but as these places are even more renowned because of the temples located there they will be described later. The inland sea which separates the larger islands of Japan, and is itself studded with smaller islands, adds interest to the travel from port to port. Many of these islands are inhabited, and the tiny fields which perch upon their sides give evidence of an ever present thrift. Some of the islands are barren peaks jutting a few hundred feet above the waves, while some are so small as to look like hay stacks in a submerged meadow.

All over Japan one is impressed with the patient industry of the people. If the Hollanders have reclaimed the ocean's bed, the people of Japan have encroached upon the mountains. They have broadened the valleys and terraced the hill sides. Often the diminutive fields are held in place by stone walls, while the different levels are furnished with an abundance of water from the short but numerous rivers.

The climate is very much diversified, ranging from almost tropical heat in Formosa to arctic cold in the northern islands; thus Japan can produce almost every kind of food. Her population in 1903 was estimated at nearly forty-seven millions, an increase of about thirteen and a half millions since 1873. While Tokyo has a population of about one and a half millions, Osaka a population of nearly a million, Kyoto three hundred and fifty thousand, Yokohama three hundred thousand, and Kobe and Nagoya about the same, and there are several other large cities of less size, still a large majority of the population is rural and the farming communities have a decided preponderance in the federal congress, or diet. The population, however, is increasing more rapidly in the cities than in the country.

The stature of the Japanese is below that of the citizens of the United States and northern Europe. The average height of the men in the army is about five feet two inches, and the average weight between a hundred and twenty and a hundred and thirty pounds. It looks like burlesque opera to see, as one does occasionally, two or three little Japanese soldiers guarding a group of big burly Russian prisoners.

The opinion is quite general that the habit which the Japanese form from infancy of sitting on the floor with their feet under them, tends to shorten the lower limbs. In all the schools the children are now required to sit upon benches and whether from this cause or some other, the average height of the males, as shown by yearly medical examination, is gradually increasing. Although undersize, the people are sturdy and muscular and have the appearance of robust health. In color they display all shades of brown, from a very light to a very dark. While the oblique eye is common, it is by no means universal.

The conveyance which is most popular is the jinrikisha, a narrow seated, two wheeled top buggy with shafts, joined with a cross piece at the end. These are drawn by "rikisha men" of whom there are several hundred thousand in the empire. The 'rikisha was invented by a Methodist missionary some thirty years ago and at once sprang into popularity. When the passenger is much above average weight, or when the journey is over a hilly road, a pusher is employed and in extraordinary cases two pushers. It is astonishing what speed these men can make. One of the governors informed me that 'rikisha men sometimes cover seventy-five miles of level road in a day. They will take up a slow trot and travel for several miles without a break. We had occasion to go to a village fifteen miles from Kagoshima and crossed a low mountain range of perhaps two thousand feet. The trip each way occupied about four hours; each 'rikisha had two pushers and the men had three hours rest at noon. They felt so fresh at the end of the trip that they came an hour later to take us to a dinner engagement. In the mountainous regions the chair and kago take the place of the 'rikisha. The chair rests on two bamboo poles and is carried by four men; the kago is suspended from one pole, like a swinging hammock, and is carried by two. Of the two, the chair is much the more comfortable for the tourist. The basha is a small one-horse omnibus which will hold four or six small people; it is used as a sort of stage between villages. A large part of the hauling of merchandise is done by men, horses being rarely seen. In fact, in some of the cities there are more oxen than horses, and many of them wear straw sandals to protect their hoofs from the hard pavement. The lighter burdens are carried in buckets or baskets, suspended from the ends of a pole and balanced upon the shoulder.

In the country the demand for land is so great that most of the roads are too narrow for any other vehicle than a hand cart. The highways connecting the cities and principal towns, however, are of good width, are substantially constructed and well drained, and have massive stone bridges spanning the streams.

The clothing of the men presents an interesting variety. In official circles the European and American dress prevails. The silk hat and Prince Albert coat are in evidence at all day functions, and the dress suit at evening parties. The western style of dress is also worn by many business men, professional men and soldiers, and by students after they reach the middle school, which corresponds to our high school. The change is taking place more rapidly among the young than among the adults and is more marked in the city than in the country. In one of the primary schools in Kyoto, I noticed that more than half of the children gave evidence of the transition in dress. The change is also more noticeable in the seaport cities than in the interior. At Kyoto, an inland city, the audience wore the native dress and all were seated on mats on the floor, while the next night at Osaka, a seaport, all sat on chairs and nearly all wore the American dress. At the Osaka meeting some forty Japanese young ladies from the Congregational college sang "My Country 'Tis of Thee" in English.

The shopkeepers and clerks generally wear the native clothing, which consists of a divided skirt and a short kimono held in place by a sash. The laboring men wear loose knee breeches and a shirt in warm weather; in cold weather they wear tight fitting breeches that reach to the ankles and a loose coat. In the country the summer clothing is even more scanty. I saw a number of men working in the field with nothing on but a cloth about the loins, and it was early in November, when I found a light overcoat comfortable.

A pipe in a wooden case and a tobacco pouch are often carried in the belt or sash, for smoking is almost universal among both men and women.

Considerable latitude is allowed in footwear. The leather shoe has kept pace with the coat and vest, but where the native dress is worn, the sandal is almost always used. Among the well-to-do the foot is encased in a short sock made of white cotton cloth, which is kept scrupulously clean. The sock has a separate division for the great toe, the sandal being held upon the foot by a cord which runs between the first and second toes and, dividing, fastens on each side of the sandal. These sandals are of wood and rest upon two blocks an inch or more high, the front one sloping toward the toe. The sandal hangs loosely upon the foot and drags upon the pavement with each step. The noise made by a crowd at a railroad station rises above the roar of the train. In muddy weather a higher sandal is used which raises the feet three or four inches from the ground, and the wearers stalk about as if on stilts. The day laborers wear a cheaper sandal made of woven rope or straw. The footwear above described comes down from time immemorial, but there is coming into use among the 'rikisha men a modern kind of footwear which is a compromise between the new and the old. It is a dark cloth, low-topped gaiter with a rubber sole and no heel. These have the separate pocket for the great toe. The sandals are left at the door. At public meetings in Japanese halls the same custom is followed, the sandals being checked at the door as hats and wraps are in our country. On approaching a meeting place the speaker can form some estimate of the size of the audience by the size of the piles of sandals on the outside. After taking cold twice, I procured a pair of felt slippers and carried them with me, and the other members of the family did likewise.

The women still retain the primitive dress. About 1884 an attempt was made by the ladies of the court to adopt the European dress and quite a number of women in official circles purchased gowns in London, Paris and the United States, in spite of the protests of their sisters abroad. (Mrs. Cleveland joined in a written remonstrance which was sent from the United States.) But the spell was broken in a very few months and the women outside of the court circles returned to the simpler and more becoming native garb. It is not necessary to enter into details regarding the female toilet, as the magazines have made the world familiar with the wide sleeved, loose fitting kimono with its convenient pockets. The children wear bright colors, but the adults adopt more quiet shades.

The shape of the garment never changes, but the color does. This season grey has been the correct shade. Feminine pride shows itself in the obi, a broad sash or belt tied in a very stiff and incomprehensible bow at the back. The material used for the obi is often bright in color and of rich and expensive brocades. A wooden disc is often concealed within the bow of the obi to keep it in shape and also to brace the back. Two neck cloths are usually worn, folded inside the kimono to protect the bare throat. These harmonize with the obi in color and give a dainty finish to the costume. As the kimono is quite narrow in the skirt, the women take very short steps. This short step, coupled with the dragging of the sandals, makes the women's gait quite unlike the free stride of the American woman. In the middle and higher schools the girls wear a pleated skirt over the kimono. These are uniform for each school and wine color is the shade now prevailing. The men and women of the same class wear practically the same kind of shoes.

Next to the obi, the hair receives the greatest attention and it is certainly arranged with elaborate care. The process is so complicated that a hair dresser is employed once or twice a week and beetle's oil is used in many instances to make the hair smooth and glossy. At night the Japanese women place a very hard, round cushion under the neck in order to keep the hair from becoming disarranged. The stores now have on sale air pillows, which are more comfortable than the wooden ones formerly used. The vexing question of millinery is settled by dispensing with hats entirely. Among the poorer classes the hat is seldom used by the men.

More interesting in appearance than either the men or women are the children—and I may add that there is no evidence of race suicide in Japan. They are to be seen everywhere, and a good natured lot they are. The babies are carried on the back of the mother or an older child, and it is not unusual to see the baby fast asleep while the bearer goes about her work. Of the tens of thousands of babies we have seen, scarcely a half dozen have been crying. The younger children sometimes have the lower part of the head shaved, leaving a cap of long hair on the crown of the head. Occasionally a spot is shaved in the center of this cap. After seeing the children on the streets, one can better appreciate the Japanese dolls, which look so strange to American children.

Cleanliness is the passion of the Japanese. The daily bath is a matter of routine, and among the middle classes there are probably more who go above this average than below. It is said that in the city of Tokyo there are over eleven hundred public baths, and it is estimated that five hundred thousand baths are taken daily at these places. The usual charge is one and a quarter cents (in our money) for adults and one cent for children. One enthusiastic admirer of Japan declares that a Japanese boy, coming unexpectedly into the possession of a few cents, will be more apt to spend it on a bath than on something to eat or drink. The private houses have baths wherever the owners can afford them. The bath tub is made like a barrel—sometimes of stone, but more often of wood—and is sunk below the level of the floor. The favorite temperature is one hundred and ten degrees, and in the winter time the bath tub often takes the place of a stove. In fact, at the hot springs people have been known to remain in the bath for days at a time. I do not vouch for the statement, but Mr. Basil H. Chamberlain in his book entitled "Things Japanese," says that when he was at one of these hot springs "the caretaker of the establishment, a hale old man of eighty, used to stay in the bath during the entire winter." Until recently the men and women bathed promiscuously in the public baths; occasionally, but not always, a string separated the bathers. Now different apartments must be provided.

The Japanese are a very polite people. They have often been likened to the French in this respect—the French done in bronze, so to speak. They bow very low, and in exchanging salutations and farewells sometimes bow several times. When the parties are seated on the floor, they rise to the knees and bow the head to the floor. Servants, when they bring food to those who are seated on the floor, drop upon their knees and, bowing, present the tray.

In speaking of the people I desire to emphasize one conclusion that has been drawn from my observations here, viz., that I have never seen a more quiet, orderly or self-restrained people. I have visited all of the larger cities and several of the smaller ones, in all parts of the islands; have mingled in the crowds that assembled at Tokyo and at Yokohama at the time of the reception to Togo and during the naval review; have ridden through the streets in day time and at night; and have walked when the entire street was a mass of humanity. I have not seen one drunken native or witnessed a fight or altercation of any kind. This is the more remarkable when it is remembered that these have been gala days when the entire population turned out to display its patriotism and to enjoy a vacation.

The Japanese house deserves a somewhat extended description. It is built of wood, is one story in height, unpainted and has a thatched or a tile roof. The thatched roof is cheaper, but far less durable. Some of the temples and palaces have a roof constructed like a thatched roof in which the bark of the arbor vitæ is used in place of grass or straw. These roofs are often a foot thick and are quite imposing. In cities most buildings are roofed with tile of a pattern which has been used for hundreds of years. Shingles are sometimes used on newer structures, but they are not nearly so large as our shingles, and instead of being fastened with nails, are held in place by wire. On the business streets the houses are generally two stories, the merchant living above the store. The public buildings are now being constructed of brick and stone and modeled after the buildings of America and Europe. But returning to the native architecture—the house is really little more than a frame, for the dividing walls are sliding screens, and, except in cold weather, the outside walls are taken out during the day. The rooms open into each other, the hallway extending around the outside instead of going through the center. Frail sliding partitions covered with paper separate the rooms from the hall, glass being almost unknown. The floor is covered with a heavy matting two inches thick, and as these mats are of uniform size, six feet by three, the rooms are made to fit the mats, twelve feet square being the common size. As the walls of the room are not stationary, there is no place for the hanging of pictures, although the sliding walls are often richly decorated. Such pictures as the house contains are painted on silk or paper and are rolled up when not on exhibition. At one end of the room used for company, there is generally a raised platform upon which a pot of flowers or other ornament is placed, and above this there are one or two shelves, the upper one being inclosed in sliding doors. There are no bedsteads, the beds being made upon the floor and rolled up during the day. There are no tables or chairs. There is usually a diminutive desk about a foot high upon which writing material is placed. The writing is done with a brush and the writing case or box containing the brush, ink, etc., has furnished the lacquer industry with one of the most popular articles for ornamentation. The people sit upon cushions upon the floor and their meals are served upon trays.

Japanese food is so different from American food that it takes the visitor some time to acquire a fondness for it, more time than the tourist usually has at his disposal. With the masses rice is the staple article of diet, and it is the most palatable native dish that the foreigner finds here. The white rice raised in Japan is superior in quality to some of the rice raised in China, and the farmers are often compelled to sell good rice and buy the poorer quality. Millet, which is even cheaper, is used as a substitute for rice.

As might be expected in a seagirt land, fish, lobster, crab, shrimp, etc., take the place of meat, the fish being often served raw. As a matter of fact, it is sometimes brought to the table alive and carved in the presence of the guests. Sweet potatoes, pickled radishes, mushrooms, sea weed, barley and fruit give variety to the diet. The radishes are white and enormous in size. I saw some which were two feet long and two and a half inches in diameter. Another variety is conical in form and six or eight inches in diameter. I heard of a kind of turnip which grows so large that two of them make a load for the small Japanese horses. The chicken is found quite generally throughout the country, but is small like the fighting breeds or the Leghorns. Ducks, also, are plentiful. Milk is seldom used except in case of sickness, and butter is almost unknown among the masses.

But the subject of food led me away from the house. No description would be complete which did not mention the little gate through which the tiny door yard is entered; the low doorway upon which the foreigner constantly bumps his head, and the little garden at the rear of the house with its fish pond, its miniature mountains, its climbing vines and fragrant flowers. The dwarf trees are cultivated here, and they are a delight to the eye; gnarled and knotted pines two feet high and thirty or forty years old are not uncommon. Little maple trees are seen here fifty years old and looking all of their age, but only twelve inches in height. We saw a collection of these dwarf trees, several hundred in number, and one could almost imagine himself transported to the home of the brownies. Some of these trees bear fruit ludicrously large for the size of the tree. The houses are heated by charcoal fires in open urns or braziers, but an American would not be satisfied with the amount of heat supplied. These braziers are moved about the room as convenience requires and supply heat for the inevitable tea.

But I have reached the limit of this article and must defer until the next description of the Japanese customs as we found them in the homes which we were privileged to visit.

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Every nation has its customs, its way of doing things, and a nation's customs and ways are likely to be peculiar in proportion as the nation is isolated. In Japan, therefore, one would expect to see many strange things, and the expectation is more than realized. In some things their customs are exactly the opposite of ours. In writing they place their characters in vertical lines and move from right to left, while our letters are arranged on horizontal lines and read from left to right. Their books begin where ours end and end where ours begin. The Japanese carpenters pull the saw and plane toward them, while ours push them from them. The Japanese mounts his steed from the right, while the American mounts from the left; Japanese turn to the left, Americans to the right. Japanese write it "Smith John Mr.," while we say "Mr. John Smith." At dinners in Japan wine is served hot and soup cold, and the yard is generally at the back of the house instead of the front.

The Japanese wear white for mourning and often bury their dead in a sitting posture. The death is sometimes announced as occurring at the house when it actually occurred elsewhere, and the date of the death is fixed to suit the convenience of the family. This is partly due to the fact that the Japanese like to have the death appear as occurring at home. Sometimes funeral services are held over a part of the body. An American lady whose Japanese maid died while attending her mistress in the United States, reports an incident worth relating. The lady cabled her husband asking instructions in regard to the disposition of the body. He conferred with the family of the deceased and cabled back directing the wife to bring a lock of the hair and the false teeth of the departed. The instructions were followed and upon the delivery of these precious relics, they were interred with the usual ceremonies.

The handshake is uncommon even among Japanese politicians, except in their intercourse with foreigners. When Baron Komura returned from the peace conference in which he played so important a part, I was anxious to witness his landing, partly out of respect to the man and partly out of curiosity to see whether the threatened manifestations of disapproval would be made by the populace, it having been rumored that thousands of death lanterns were being prepared for a hostile parade. (It is needless to say that the threats did not materialize and that no expressions of disapproval were heard after his arrival.) I found it impossible to learn either the hour or the landing place, and, despairing of being present, started to visit a furniture factory to inspect some wood carving. Consul-General Jones of Dalney (near Port Arthur), then visiting in Yokohama, was my escort and, as good fortune would have it, we passed near the Detached Palace. Dr. Jones, hearing that the landing might be made there, obtained permission for us to await the peace commissioner's coming. We found Marquis Ito there and a half dozen other officials. As Baron Komura did not arrive for half an hour, it gave me the best opportunity that I could have had to become acquainted with the Marquis, who is the most influential man in Japan at present. He is President of the Privy Council of Elder Statesmen and is credited with being the most potent factor in the shaping of Japan's demands at Portsmouth.

When Baron Komura stepped from the launch upon the soil of his native land, he was met by Marquis Ito, and each greeted the other with a low bow. The baron then saluted the other officials in the same manner and, turning, bowed to a group of Japanese ladies representing the Woman's Patriotic Association. Dr. Jones and I stood some feet in the rear of the officials and were greeted by the baron after he had saluted his own countrymen. He extended his hand to us. The incident is mentioned as illustrating the difference in the manner of greeting. For who would be more apt to clasp hands, if that were customary, than these two distinguished statesmen whose personalities are indissolubly linked together in the conclusion of a world renowned treaty?

A brief account of the reception of Admiral Togo may be interesting to those who read this article. While at Tokyo I visited the city hall, at the invitation of the mayor and city council. While there Mayor Ozaki informed me that he, in company with the mayors of the other cities, would tender Admiral Togo a reception on the following Tuesday, and invited me to be present. Of course I accepted, because it afforded a rare opportunity to observe Japanese customs as well as to see a large concourse of people. As I witnessed the naval review in Yokohama the day before and the illumination at night, I did not reach Tokyo until the morning of the reception, and this led me into considerable embarrassment. On the train I met a Japanese gentleman who could speak English. He was kind enough to find me a 'rikisha man and a pusher and to instruct them to take me at once to Uyeno Park. He then left me and the 'rikisha men followed his instructions to the letter. They had not proceeded far when I discovered that Admiral Togo had arrived on the same train and that a long procession had formed to conduct him to the park. Before I knew it, I was whisked past an escort of distinguished citizens who, clad in Prince Alberts and silk hats, followed the carriages, and then I found my 'rikisha drawn into an open space between two carriages. Grabbing the 'rikisha man in front of me, I told him by word and gesture to get out of the line of the procession. He could not understand English, and evidently thinking that I wanted to get nearer the front, he ran past a few carriages and then dropped into another opening. Again I got him out of the line, employing more emphasis than before, only to be carried still nearer the front. After repeated changes of position, all the time employing such sign language as I could command and attempting to convey by different tones of voice suggestions that I could not translate into language, I at last reached the head of the procession. And the 'rikisha men, as if satisfied with the success of their efforts, paused to await the starting of the line. I tried to inform them that I was not a part of the procession; that I wanted to get on another street; that they should take me to the park by some other route and do so at once. They at last comprehended sufficiently to leave the carriages and take up a rapid gait, but get off of the street they would not. For three miles they drew me between two rows of expectant people, whose eyes peered down the street to catch a glimpse of the great admiral, who, as the commander of the Japanese navy, has won such signal victories over the Russians. I saw a million people; they represented every class, age and condition. I saw more people than I ever saw before in a single day. Old men and old women, feeble, but strengthened by their enthusiasm; middle aged men and women whose sons had shared in the dangers and in the triumphs of the navy; students from the boys' schools and students from the girls' schools with flags and banners, little children dressed in all the colors of the rainbow—all were there. And I could imagine that each one of them old enough to think, was wondering why a foreigner was intruding upon a street which the police had cleared for a triumphal procession. If some one had angrily caught my 'rikisha men and thrust them through the crowd to a side street I should not have complained—I would even have felt relieved, but no one molested them or me and I reached the park some minutes ahead of the admiral. How glad I was to alight, and how willingly I rewarded the smiles of the 'rikisha men with a bonus—for had they not done their duty as they understood it? And had they not also given me, in spite of my protests, such a view of the people of Tokyo as I could have obtained in no other way?

At the park I luckily fell in with some of the councilmen whom I had met before and they took me in hand. I saw the procession arrive, heard the banzais (the Japanese cheers) as they rolled along the street, keeping pace with Togo's carriage, and I witnessed the earnest, yet always orderly, rejoicing of the crowd that had congregated at the end of the route. When the procession passed by us into the park the members of the city council fell in behind the carriages, and I with them. When we reached the stand, a seat was tendered me on the front row from which the extraordinary ceremonies attending the reception could be witnessed. Mayor Ozaki, the presiding officer, escorted Admiral Togo to a raised platform, and there the two took seats on little camp stools some ten feet apart, facing each other, with their sides to the audience and to those on the stand. After a moment's delay, a priest, clad in his official robes, approached with cake and a teacup on a tray and, kneeling, placed them before the admiral. Tea was then brought in a long handled pot and poured into the cup. After the distinguished guest had partaken of these refreshments, the mayor arose and read an address of welcome. He has the reputation of being one of the best orators in the empire, and his part was doubly interesting to me. As he confined himself to his manuscript, I could not judge of his delivery, but his voice was pleasing and his manner natural. The address recited the exploits of Admiral Togo and gave expression to the gratitude of the people. At its conclusion the hero-admiral arose and modestly acknowledged the compliment paid to him and to his officers. Admiral Togo is short, even for the Japanese, and has a scanty beard. Neither in stature nor in countenance does he give evidence of the stern courage and indomitable will which have raised him to the pinnacle of fame.

When he sat down the mayor proposed three times three banzais, and they were given with a will by the enormous crowd that stood in the open place before the stand. While writing this article, I am in receipt of information that Mayor Ozaki has secured for me one of the little camp stools above referred to and has had made for me a duplicate of the other. They will not only be interesting souvenirs of an historic occasion, and prized as such, but they will be interesting also because they contrast so sharply with the large and richly upholstered chairs used in America on similar occasions.

From this public meeting the admiral and his officers were conducted to a neighboring hall where an elaborate luncheon was served. With the councilmen I went to this hall and was presented to the admiral and his associates, one of whom had been a student at Annapolis.

By the courtesy of Hon. Lloyd Griscom, the American minister, I had an audience with the emperor, these audiences being arranged through the minister representing the country from which the caller comes. Our minister, to whom I am indebted for much assistance and many kindnesses during my stay at the capital, accompanied me to the palace and instructed me, as they say in the fraternities, "in the secret work of the order." Except where the caller wears a uniform, he is expected to appear in evening dress, although the hour fixed is in the day time. At the outer door stand men in livery, one of whom conducts the callers through long halls, beautifully decorated on ceilings and walls, to a spacious reception room where a halt is made until the summons comes from the emperor's room. The emperor stands in the middle of the receiving room with an interpreter at his side. The caller on reaching the threshold bows; he then advances half way to the emperor, pauses and bows again; he then proceeds and bows a third time as he takes the extended hand of the sovereign.

The conversation is brief and formal, consisting of answers to the questions asked by his majesty. The emperor is fifty-three years old, about five feet six inches in height, well built and wears a beard, although, as is the case with most Japanese, the growth is not heavy. On retiring the caller repeats the three bows.

We were shown through the palace, and having seen the old palace at Kyoto, which was the capital until the date of the restoration (1868), I was struck with the difference. The former was severely plain; the latter represents the best that Japanese art can produce.

No discussion of Japanese customs would be complete without mention of the tea ceremonial. One meets tea on his arrival; it is his constant companion during his stay and it is mingled with the farewells that speed him on his departure. Whenever he enters a house he is offered tea and cake and they are never refused. This custom prevails in the larger stores and is scrupulously observed at public buildings and colleges. The tea is served in dainty cups and taken without sugar or cream. The tea drinking habit is universal here, the kettle of hot water sitting on the coals in the brazier most of the time. At each railroad station the boys sing out, "Cha! Cha!" (the Japanese word for tea) and for less than two cents in our money they will furnish the traveler with an earthen pot of hot tea, with pot and cup thrown in.

The use of tea at social gatherings dates back at least six hundred years, when a tea ceremonial was instituted by a Buddhist priest to soften the manners of the warriors. It partook of a religious character at first, but soon became a social form, and different schools of tea drinkers vied with each other in suggesting rules and methods of procedure. About three hundred years ago Hideyoshi, one of the greatest of the military rulers of Japan, gave what is described as the largest tea party on record; the invitations being in the form of an imperial edict. All lovers of tea were summoned to assemble at a given date in a pine grove near Kyoto, and they seem to have done so. The tea party lasted ten days and the emperor drank at every booth.

According to Chamberlain, tea drinking had reached the luxurious stage before the middle of the fourteenth century. The lords took part in the daily gatherings, reclining on tiger skins, the walls of the guest chamber being richly ornamented. One of the popular games of that day was the offering of a number of varieties of tea, the guests being required to guess where each variety was produced, the best guess winning a handsome prize. The tea ceremony answered at least one useful purpose—it furnished an innocent way of killing time, and the lords of that day seem to have had an abundance of time on their hands. The daughters of the upper classes were trained to perform the ceremony and displayed much skill therein. Even to this day it is regarded as one of the accomplishments, and young ladies perfect themselves in it, much as our daughters learn music and singing. At Kagoshima, Governor Chikami, one of the most scholarly men whom I have met here, had his daughter perform for my instruction a part of the ceremony, time not permitting more. With charming grace she prepared, poured and served this Japanese nectar, each motion being according to the rules of the most approved sect, for there are sects among tea drinkers.

The theatre is an ancient institution here, although until recently the actors were considered beneath even the mercantile class. Their social standing has been somewhat improved since the advent of western ideas. The theatre building is very plain as compared with ours or even with the better class of homes here. They are always on the ground floor and have a circular, revolving stage within the larger stage which makes it possible to change the scenes instantly.

The plays are divided into two kinds—historical ones reproducing old Japan, and modern plays. The performance often lasts through the entire day and evening, some of the audience bringing their tea kettles and food. Lunches, fruit, cigarettes and tea are also on sale in the theatre. The people sit on the floor as they do in their homes and at public meetings. One of the side aisles is raised to the level of the stage and the actors use it for entrance and exit.

In this connection a word should be said in regard to the Geisha girls who have furnished such ample material for the artist and the decorator. They are selected for their beauty and trained in what is called a dance, although it differs so much from the American dance as scarcely to be describable by that term. It is rather a series of graceful poses in which gay costumes, dainty fans, flags, scarfs and sometimes parasols, play a part. The faces of the dancers are expressionless and there is no exposure of the limbs. The Geisha girls are often called in to entertain guests at a private dinner, the performance being before, not after, the meal.

Our first introduction to this national amusement was at the Maple Club dinner given at Tokyo by a society composed of Japanese men who had studied in the United States. The name of the society is a Japanese phrase which means the "Friends of America." The Maple Club is the most famous restaurant in Japan, and the Geisha girls employed there stand at the head of their profession. During the dancing there is music on stringed instruments, which resembles the banjo in tone, and sometimes singing. At the Maple Club the Geisha girls displayed American and Japanese flags. We saw the dancing again at an elaborate dinner given by Mr. Fukuzawa, editor of the Jiji Shimpo. Here also the flags of both nations were used.

In what words can I adequately describe the hospitality of the Japanese? I have read, and even heard, that among the more ignorant classes there is a decided anti-foreign feeling, and it is not unnatural that those who refuse to reconcile themselves to Japan's new attitude should blame the foreigner for the change, but we did not encounter this sentiment anywhere. Never in our own country have we been the recipients of more constant kindness or more considerate attention. From Marquis Ito down through all the ranks of official life we found everyone friendly to America, and to us as representatives of America. At the dinner given by Minister Griscom there were present, besides Marquis Ito, the leader of the liberal party, Count Okuma, the leader of the progressive party (the opposition party), and a number of other prominent Japanese politicians.

At the dinner given by Consul General Miller at Yokohama, Governor Sufu and Mayor Ichihara were present. The state and city officials wherever we have been have done everything possible to make our stay pleasant. The college and school authorities have opened their institutions to us and many without official position have in unmistakable ways shown themselves friendly. We will carry away with us a number of handsome presents bestowed by municipalities, colleges, societies and individuals.

We were entertained by Count Okuma soon after our arrival and met there, among others, Mr. Kato of the state department, and President Hatoyama of the Waseda University, and their wives. The count's house is half European and half Japanese, and his garden is celebrated for its beauty. At Viscount Kana's we saw a delightful bit of home life. He is one of the few daimios, or feudal lords, who has become conspicuous in the politics of Japan, and we soon discovered the secret of his success. He has devoted himself to the interests of agriculture and spent his time in an earnest and intelligent effort to improve the condition of the rural population. He is known as "The Farmer's Friend." His house is at the top of a beautifully terraced hill, which was once a part of his feudal estate. He and his wife and six children met us at the bottom of the hill on our arrival and escorted us to the bottom on our departure. The children assisted in serving the dinner and afterward sang for us the American national air as well as their own national hymn. The hospitality was so genuine and so heartily entered into by all the family that we could hardly realize that we were in a foreign land and entertained by hosts to whom we had to speak through an interpreter.

In the country, fifteen miles from Kagoshima, I was a guest at the home of Mr. Yamashita, the father of the young man, who, when a student in America, made his home with us for more than five years. Mr. Yamashita was of the samurai class and since the abolition of feudalism has been engaged in farming. He had invited his relatives and also the postmaster and the principal of the district school to the noon meal. He could not have been more thoughtful of my comfort or more kindly in his manner. The little country school which stood near by turned out to bid us welcome. The children were massed at a bridge over which large flags of the two nations floated from bamboo poles. Each child also held a flag, the Japanese and American flags alternating. As young Yamashita and I rode between the lines they waved their flags and shouted "Banzai." And so it was at other schools. Older people may be diplomatic and feign good will, but children speak from their hearts. There is no mistaking their meaning, and in my memory the echo of the voices of the children, mingling with the assurances of the men and women, convinces me that Japan entertains nothing but good will toward our nation. Steam has narrowed the Pacific and made us neighbors; let Justice keep us friends.

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As for the islands themselves, they are largely of volcanic origin, and a number of smoking peaks still give evidence of the mighty convulsions which piled up these masses of masonry. Asosan mountain, on the island of Kyushu, has the largest crater in the world.

Japan is the home of the earthquake. The Japanese Year Book of 1905 is authority for the statement that Japan was visited by 17,750 earthquakes during the thirteen years ending 1887—an average of more than thirteen hundred a year, or three and a half each day. It is needless to say that a large majority of these were so trivial as to be unnoticed, except by those in charge of the delicate instrument which registers them.

If the average is as great at this time, there have been more than seventy-five since we landed, but we have not been aware of them. The severe shocks have come at periods averaging two and a half years, and the really disastrous ones have been something like fifty years apart. The country about Tokyo is most subject to earthquakes, the last severe one being in 1894. According to an ancient legend, Japan rests upon the back of a large fish and the earthquakes are caused by the moving of the fish. There is a Seismological society in Japan which has published a sixteen-volume work giving all that is scientifically known of the cause and recurrence of these disturbances.

Of the origin of the Japanese themselves nothing certain is known. The best authorities say that they came from the continent in an early Mongol invasion, while others believe that they came from the islands which stretch to the south. One writer announces the theory that they are the lost Israelites. It is quite certain that when the first Japanese landed on the islands they found an earlier race in possession. Some seventeen thousand of these, called Ainus, now occupy the northern extremity of the empire—an indication that the migration was from the southwest. The Ainus have remained distinct; where they have intermarried with the Japanese, the half breeds have died out in the second or third generation. They are a hairy race and in physical characteristics quite different from the Japanese. Their religion is a sort of nature worship, and it is their custom to say a simple grace before eating.

The remoteness of the settlement of Japan is shown by the fact that the reigning family, which claims descent from the gods, has held undisputed sway for twenty-five hundred years, although the record of the first thousand years is so dependent upon verbal tradition that the official history cannot be verified. As concubinage has been practiced from time immemorial, the heir, the oldest son, has not always been born of the empress.

Soon after the beginning of the Christian era the influence of China and Korea began to be felt in Japan, the written characters of the language being quite like the Chinese. Koreans and Japanese do not agree as to the influence which the former have had upon the latter. A very intelligent Korean informs me that his is the mother country and that Japan was settled from Korea, but the Japanese do not take kindly to this theory.

The feudal system, of which I shall speak more at length in another article, was early established in Japan, and society was divided into well defined classes. First came the members of the royal family and those admitted to the circle by favor; next, the Shogun (of whom more will be heard under the subject of government) and his relatives.

Next in rank were the daimios, or lords, of varying degrees of importance. Each daimio had a large number of retainers, who were called samurai, and below these were a still larger number of peasants who tilled the soil and did the manual labor. Some of the early pictures show the gorgeous dress of the daimios and portray the elaborate ceremony employed on state occasions.

The samurai were the warriors and had no other occupation than to defend their lords in the struggles between the clans. They corresponded to the knights in Europe during the days of chivalry, except that there were no romantic adventures over women—woman holding until recently a very subordinate place as compared with "her lord and master."

The samurai were given an annual allowance for their subsistence, and felt that toil was far beneath their dignity. They wore lacquered armor and costly helmets and carried two swords—a long one for the enemy and a short one for themselves.

It was with this short sword that the famous hara-kiri was committed. This ancient form of suicide by disembowelment was considered an highly honorable death and has been practiced until within a generation. General Saigo, one of the great men of Japan and one of its popular heroes, was the last man of prominence to terminate his life in this way. He was one of the leaders in the movement to restore to the emperor the authority which the shoguns had usurped and was for a while close to the throne. In 1874, however, he organized an army for the invasion of Korea, and coming into conflict with the forces of the empire, which were called out to prevent the invasion, he was defeated. In his humiliation he committed hara-kiri. A few years ago the title of Marquis was conferred upon him by a posthumous decree and is now enjoyed by his eldest son. One of his sons is the present mayor of Kyoto and another a colonel in the Imperial Guard. A bronze monument of heroic size, the gift of admiring friends, has recently been placed in the principal park in Tokyo.

Only a few years ago a young Japanese committed suicide in this way in order to emphasize his protest against the encroachments of the Russians, but a strong sentiment is developing against hara-kiri, and it will soon take its place among other obsolete customs.

The samurai represented the intellectual as well as the military strength of the nation. The daimios have furnished few of the men of prominence in modern Japan, nearly all of the leaders in government, education, literature and the professions having come from the samurai class. Now, however, that all social distinctions have been removed and the schools opened to the children of all, the old lines between the classes cannot so easily be traced.

The merchant class has always been looked down upon in Japan. In the social scale the members of this class were not only lower than the samurai, but lower than the tillers of the soil. It was probably because of the contempt in which they were held that so low a standard of integrity existed among them—at least this is the explanation usually given. Even now Japanese, as well as foreigners, complain that the merchants impose upon their customers, but here also a change is taking place and a new order of things being inaugurated. There are in every city merchants of honor and responsibility who are redeeming trade from the stigma which it so long bore. Still, unless the stranger knows with whom he is dealing, it is well to have a Japanese advisor, for we found by experience that the price named to foreigners was sometimes considerably above the regular price.

For centuries Japan lived an isolated life and developed herself according to her own ideas. Of her native religion, Shintoism, of the introduction of Buddhism and of the first Christian missionaries, I shall speak in a later article. She repelled an attack of the Mongols which might have been disastrous to her but for the fact that a timely storm destroyed the invading fleet, much as the Spanish Armada was destroyed. She has from time to time attempted the invasion of Korea, the last attempt being made about three hundred years ago. A little later the Shogun, Iemitsu, alarmed by the spread of the Christian religion, introduced by Catholic missionaries from Spain and Portugal, shut the country up, and for two and a half centuries no foreigner was admitted and no citizen of Japan was permitted to go abroad.

To more surely keep his people at home the Shogun prohibited the building of any but small sailing vessels. It is almost incredible that so large a group of people could have enjoyed the civilization which existed here and still concealed themselves so completely from the outside world and remained so ignorant of the mighty movements in Europe and America. In 1853 Commodore Perry arrived with an American fleet and a treaty was finally entered into which opened the country to foreign intercourse. Japan was ripe for the change. While there was at first an anti-foreign sentiment which affected domestic politics and at one time resulted in an attack upon a foreign fleet, the assimilation of western civilization was rapid and constant. Young men began to go abroad, foreign teachers were sent for and the Japanese people began to manifest a wonderful aptitude for the adaptation of foreign ideas to local conditions. The army and navy were reconstructed upon the European models and a public school system largely like our own was established.

In most countries reforms have come up from the masses through more or less prolonged seasons of agitation, but in Japan the higher classes have been the leaders and have extended increasing social and governmental advantages to the whole people without a struggle. In every department of thought there has been progress, and in every line of work there have been leaders whose ambitions and ideals have been high and noble.

To illustrate the change that has taken place, Count Okuma cites the case of the famous military genius, the present Marshal Yamagata. When a very young man Yamagata was a spearman in the army organized by the daimios of Choshu to attack the foreign ships at the Shimonoseki Straits. He was so ignorant of modern warfare that he was confident of the ability of the Japanese to defeat the foreigners with spears. He thought that the Europeans and Americans would be at the mercy of the natives as soon as they landed. His surprise may be imagined when leaden missiles mowed down his comrades long before the spears could be brought into use. But this young man who attempted in 1864 to measure spear against rifle, betook himself to the study of the military methods of the foreigners, and in the recent war with Russia he has been chief of the general staff of the Japanese army—an army which in equipment, in preparation, and in provision for sick and wounded, as well as in its exploits upon the battlefield, has astonished the world. Count Okuma said that the progress made in the army and in the navy was paralleled by the progress made in other directions.

While there are here abundant preparations for war, there is a prevalent desire for peace. Notwithstanding Japan has a most efficient army and navy, and notwithstanding the natural exultation over their success at arms, the Japanese as I have met them are strongly inclined toward peace. Several times in introducing me the presiding officer has referred in terms of generous appreciation to the action of our president in bringing about the recent treaty of peace. The wars against China and Russia have been regarded by the people as defensive wars and it will be remembered that the civil war of 1874 was simply a suppression by the government of an attempt to invade Korea. General Saigo raised his army for the purpose of conquering Korea, but the government met the insurrectionists with an army large enough to completely overwhelm the forces of the famous general.

The Anglo-Japanese alliance is everywhere defended as a guarantee of peace. I met yesterday a Japanese of some local prominence who has issued a plea for universal peace. He proposes the establishment of an international peace society and in earnest language sets forth the horrors of war and the material, as well as the moral, arguments in favor of peace.

Upon no element of Japanese society has the rising sun of a higher civilization shed its rays more benignantly than upon woman. The position of the mother was an honored one when she became the head of the family, but while the children cared for both parents with a generous filial devotion, the wife and daughter were under the almost absolute power of the husband and father. Marriages were arranged by the parents and the young people were allowed to see each other after the match was agreed upon. Theoretically, each had a right to protest if dissatisfied, but practically the girl's protest amounted to nothing.

The wife was not only the servant of the husband, but might also be the servant of the mother-in-law—the mother-in-law joke being here on the daughter-in-law instead of the son-in-law. The fact that the husband was permitted to keep as many concubines as he desired still further lowered the status of woman. The daughters were often sold into prostitution to relieve the indebtedness of the father, and while this custom is on the decline, there are still thousands of Japanese girls whose virtue is made a matter of merchandise in accordance with this ancient custom. There is recorded among the decisions of Ooka, sometimes called the Japanese Solomon, who lived three centuries ago, a case in which the release of a young woman from a house of ill-fame was the central feature. The report of the judge's decree shows a discriminating mind as well as devotion to justice. Incidentally, the record reveals the fact that there were Shylocks in those days who loaned on short time at high rates and exacted the pound of flesh. In this case, the usurer compelled the sale of the daughter in extinguishment of a debt of fifteen yen, which by rapidly accumulating interest, had reached the, to them, enormous sum of thirty-five yen (or $17.50). The righteous judge confiscated the house of the extortioner and with the proceeds redeemed the woman. By the aid of the missionaries, under the leadership of Rev. Murphy, of Nagoya, legislation has been secured making it unlawful for a girl to be retained in one of these houses against her will, and many have already been rescued. As the taking of a concubine is a matter of record it is possible for the newspapers to acquaint themselves with the domestic relations of prominent men, and some of the papers have assisted in creating a public opinion against concubines. This custom is certain to give way before the advance of western ideas.

One of the foremost leaders in the elevation of woman was Yukichi Fukuzawa, one of the greatest, as well as one of the most influential, of the men who have appeared in Japan. He was a journalist, an educator, an orator and a philosopher. He refused to accept any titles or decorations and was called "The Great Commoner." He founded a college, the Keio-Gijuku, to which many of the public men trace their ideals and their interest in national and social problems. He delivered the first public speech made in Japan for, strange as it may seem, the habit of public speaking does not reach farther back than twenty-three years. Until constitutional government was formed there was no place for the forum. Shortly before his death, Mr. Fukuzawa reduced his philosophy to the form of a code of morals which has made a profound impression upon the thought of his country. He presented "independence and self respect," as he defined them, as the "cardinal tenet of personal morals and living." He insisted upon the care of the body, the training of the mind and the cultivation of the moral nature. He was one of the first to raise his voice against hara-kiri and in his code of morals he says: "To complete the natural span of life is to discharge a duty incumbent on man. Therefore, any person who, be the cause what it may or the circumstances what they may, deprives himself by violence of his own life, must be said to be guilty of an act inexcusable and cowardly, as well as mean, and entirely opposed to the principle of independence and self respect."

Concerning woman his code of morals says: "The custom of regarding women as the inferiors of men is a vicious relic of barbarism. Men and women of any enlightened country must treat and love each other on a basis of equality, so that each may develop his or her own independence and self respect."

When this great man died in 1901 his widow was in receipt of letters from many women expressing their appreciation of his labors in behalf of the women of Japan. Some of these are reproduced in a life of Mr. Fukuzawa, recently issued, and show the deep gratitude which the women feel toward him. It is also interesting to know that Mr. Fukuzawa believed in the dignity of labor and taught that each person should be "an independent worker beside being his own breadwinner." While he taught patriotism, he also taught that the people of all nations "are brethren" and that "no discrimination should be made in dealing with them."

The emperor sent him, just before his death, fifty thousand yen as a recognition of his eminent services, but he immediately turned the sum over to the Keio-Gijuku.

The Jiji Shimpo, the newspaper established by Mr. Fukuzawa, is still conducted by one of his sons, with whom we had the pleasure of dining. Another son is an instructor in the Keio-Gijuku.

Newspaper development has kept pace with the development in other directions. Tokyo, the capital, has sixteen daily papers with sufficient circulation to make them known as large papers. Besides these, there are magazines, periodicals and papers published in English. The Kokumin Shimbun is known as the government organ while most of the others are regarded as independent. The Tokyo Times is an excellent paper published in English. There is a weekly publication called the Economist, with a circulation of five thousand, which deals with commercial, financial and economic questions. Yokohama has papers published in both languages and the same is true of the other large seaport towns.

All the cities are supplied with daily papers published in Japanese. At Kagoshima, a city of about fifty thousand, situated at the southern extremity of Kyushu Island, I found a prosperous daily paper called the Kagoshima Shimbun. (Shimbun means daily newspaper.) It has a circulation of nine thousand six hundred, six thousand being in the city.

At Osaka I noticed a building elaborately decorated. In front were large flags on bamboo poles and smaller flags strung on cords, while Japanese lanterns were present in profusion. As none of the buildings around were decorated, I inquired and found that the decorated building was the office of the Osaka Asahi News and that the paper was celebrating the withdrawal of the governmental order which for two weeks had suspended its publication. The issue for that day contained a large sized picture of the Goddess of Liberty. When rioting occurred at Tokyo just after the treaty of peace with Russia, an order was issued authorizing the arbitrary suspension of any newspaper containing utterances deemed incendiary. Under this order the Asahi News received notice to suspend publication until permission was granted to resume. The withdrawal of the notice was duly celebrated and the paper announced that its readers, rather than the paper, had reason to complain of the suspension. This paper has the largest circulation of any in Japan, about two hundred thousand, and the order suspending it has been the subject of much editorial criticism.

Besides the newspapers which are conducted as business propositions, there are papers supported by associations formed for the propagation of various reforms. For instance, a paper called Romaji is published monthly at Tokyo—Japanese words being spelled with Roman letters, in the place of the present Japanese characters. A society was formed some twenty years ago for the purpose of urging this reform and a paper advocating it was published for three years, but finally suspended from lack of support. This fall the Romaji was established and hopes for a better fate. While this reform would be very acceptable to foreigners who are trying to learn the language, the movement does not seem to have gathered much momentum.

In one of the leading papers, the Hocho Shimbun, Mr. Gensai Murai, a novelist of distinction, published a continued story running daily through six years. It is not yet completed, having been suspended during the war. In this story the writer presents a large amount of information on national, political, economic and social questions, at the same time putting in enough fiction to sustain the interest.

Progress along some other lines will be treated under special heads. I find that there is some tendency here to resent the statement that Japan has borrowed largely from other nations. Some native writers insist that New Japan is but the natural development of Old Japan. There is a measure of truth in this, because there is no growth except from a living germ; and yet it can not be denied that Japan has appropriated to her own great advantage many foreign ideas, and it is not to her discredit that she has done so. Both individuals and nations borrow; imitation, not originality, is the rule. It will humble the pride of anyone to attempt to separate that which he has learned from others from that which he can claim as his own by right of discovery.

Steam is the same to-day that it was ages ago, and yet millions watched it escaping from the kettle with no thought of its latent power. One man showed mankind the use to which it could be put and all the rest profited by the idea. Shall we refuse to ride upon the railroad or cross the waters in an ocean greyhound for fear of employing the conception of another? Electricity is not a new agency. The lightnings have illumined the sky from the dawn of creation, and the people saw in them only cause for fear. A few decades ago one man thought out a method by which it could be imprisoned in a wire, and now widely separated lands are united by telegraph lines, while cables traverse the ocean's bed. Shall we refuse to read the news that the current carries or reject a message from home because we must employ an idea which sprang from another's brain? He is stupid who rejects truth, no matter from what source it comes; that nation is blind which does not welcome light from anywhere and everywhere. It is to the glory, not to the shame, of the land of the Rising Sun that her people have been quick to obey the injunction, "Prove all things; hold fast that which is good."

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The basis of Japanese industry is agricultural, although each year shows a decreasing proportion engaged in the tilling of the soil. Rice is the principal product, but owing to the large amount consumed at home it is not the chief export. As this crop needs an abundance of water, the rice fields occupy the low lands and the mountain gorges. Sometimes the narrow valleys that pierce the ranges are so terraced as to look like steps, and at this time of the year when the crop is being harvested, they resemble golden stairs. The men and women work together in the field, and in many places we saw them standing almost knee deep in mud, cutting the grain with old fashioned hand-sickles. The rice is tied in bundles somewhat smaller than our wheat sheaves, and hung over poles or laid along the edge of a terrace to cure. If the threshing is delayed the grain is stacked, not as we stack wheat and oats in the United States, but in little columns with the heads of the sheaves tied to a pole in the center. Sometimes the stacks are built around a living tree. The grain is separated from the straw by means of a long toothed comb, and at this season innumerable groups of persons are busily engaged at this work. The yellow heaps of rice in the hull, looking from a distance like wheat, can be seen from the train and from the country roads. Straw mats are used to keep the grain off the ground and, I may add, the mat is in evidence everywhere in Japan and is used for all sorts of purposes.

The cultivation of the tea plant is an industry of no small magnitude, although not so universal as the cultivation of rice. The tea fields occupy the higher levels and add an interesting variety to the landscapes. At one point on the railroad between Yokohama and Nagoya the hillsides are covered with tea plantations, if such tiny farms can be called plantations. The tea plant is something like our gooseberry and currant bushes in size, but the foliage is much thicker. The leaves vary widely in value, from the cheaper grades, which are exported, to the Uji which costs what is equivalent to five or more dollars per pound.

Some cotton is grown here, but the cotton plant as we saw it is small compared with our plant, and the tillable area is too limited to admit of the growing of cotton on a large scale.

Tobacco is cultivated to some extent, but the sale of manufactured tobacco is a government prerogative.

Raw silk is by far the most valuable export, thirty-five million dollars' worth having been sent abroad last year. Three-fifths of the entire export goes to the United States, the remainder to Europe, with France as the largest European purchaser. As fifteen million dollars' worth of silk fabrics went abroad also, as against five million dollars' worth of tea and four million dollars' worth of rice, it will be seen that the cultivation of the silk worm and the mulberry tree is extensively carried on. The silk worms are kept indoors and the leaves brought in to them. When put outdoors the silk worms are devoured by birds.

Fruits grow here in great variety. We have found everywhere apples of excellent quality, raised in the northern parts of the islands, while the southern islands produce oranges, bananas and pineapples. The apple tree was imported from America about thirty-five years ago; now apples are exported to China and Siberia. The most popular orange is the tangerine, or kid glove orange as it is sometimes called; many of these are exported.

There is a kind of fruit called the ban-tan grown on the island of Kyushu. It looks something like the grape fruit, but grows considerably larger and has a thicker skin; the meat is pink in color, sweeter and less juicy than the grape fruit. Pears grow here; one variety looks like a russet apple in shape and color. Peach trees are sometimes trained as we train grape vines on an arbor, so that the orchard seems to have a flat roof of foliage.

They have here, too, persimmons as large as apples and as solid. We found these on the table in all parts of the island and there are several varieties. The grape is cultivated in Japan, but we did not see grape vines in such profusion as they are seen in southern Europe, along the lakes in western New York or in California. And, in this connection, I may add that wine is not used here to the extent that it is in some other countries, the national drink, sake, being made from fermented rice. Ordinarily this beverage contains from eleven to fourteen per cent of alcohol, but there is a stronger kind called shochu, which contains as much as fifty per cent of alcohol. It is evident, however, that liquor by any other name can be as intoxicating as our whisky, and we found at Tokyo a national temperance society with branches throughout the empire. Mr. Ando, the president of this society, is a Japanese gentleman of great earnestness and intelligence, who was converted to Christianity a few years ago when he was representing his country in Honolulu. While, as I have stated in another article, I have seen no evidences of drunkenness, Mr. Ando informs me that his society has ample work to do. I carry back with me a badge which the society gave me on learning of my total abstinence habits. I have only mentioned the leading products of the field, but I can not leave the cultivators of the soil without a word concerning the gardens. They are so cute, occupying as they do the little nooks and corners that can not be utilized for the large crops. There does not seem to be a square inch of ground wasted. The vegetables are planted in rows which are either straight or curved, never crooked, and we have scarcely seen a weed. Fertilizer is extensively used, being kept in stone or cement vats protected from the weather by a straw colored shed. Near the cities the soil is enriched by the refuse from closets which is collected and carried away during the night. The introduction of sewage systems has been somewhat impeded in some cities by the fact that sewage would be an expense while closets are now a source of profit. It must be confessed, however, that the present system tends to make fresh vegetables unpopular with the tourist.

Most travelers land at Yokohama and depart at Kobe, or land at Kobe and depart at Yokohama, these being the two principal ports. As these are about 300 miles apart, one has a chance to see much of the farming land from the railroad. The side trips from Tokyo to Nikko, from Yokohama to Miyanoshita and from Kyoto to Nara, give additional opportunities for seeing the farmer at work, but the ride from Kobe west to Shimonoseki surpasses any of these in interest and in beauty of scenery. As this route leads along the sea coast as well as through densely populated valleys, there is greater variety. Now one skirts the inland sea, with its numerous islands, its transparent waters, its little harbors and its fleets of fishing boats; now he winds his way along a stream with falls and rapids and spanned by frail foot bridges or by stone wagon bridges. On the one side he sees a bamboo grove and on the other a tiny graveyard or a little hill dedicated to a Shinto shrine—stone steps ascending along a shaded path from the sacred gate, which invariably marks the entrance to holy ground. In passing over this railroad route one gathers a large amount of information concerning the industries of the sea coast, as well as those of the inland, and besides one can visit the Shimonoseki Strait which is of historic interest to Americans. The Sanyo railroad, which connects Kobe and Shimonoseki, is well equipped and well managed and has built an excellent hotel, The Sanyo, at Shimonoseki for the accommodation of its patrons. From this point a steamer runs to Fusan, the nearest Korean port, where direct connection is made for Seoul, the Korean capital. From Moji, just across the strait from Shimonoseki, one can take a train to Nagasaki, the western seaport of Japan. At Shimonoseki one is shown the house in which Marquis Ito and Li Hung Chang drafted the Japanese-Chinese treaty in 1894.

Mining is an industry of considerable importance here. Gold, silver and copper are found in paying quantities. More than six million dollars' worth of copper was exported last year. One of the gold fields on the island of Kyushu, near Kagoshima, gives promise of considerable richness. Coal is found in such abundance that the exports of this commodity have amounted to nearly ten million dollars in a single year. A hard quality of smokeless coal has recently been discovered in western Japan.

The islands also produce a number of varieties of valuable woods. The camphor tree grows to an enormous size, a gigantic statue of the Goddess of Mercy in one of the temples at Kamakura being carved from a single camphor log. The value of the camphor exported from Japan last year exceeded a million and a half dollars. Among the hard woods suitable for carving, cherry seems to be the most popular.

Of all the trees, however, the bamboo is the most useful. Just at this time when the returning soldiers are being welcomed, it is present everywhere in the form of flag poles, and there is nothing that equals it for this purpose; long, slender, light and strong, it is just the thing for flags and banners, and when a little plume of leaves is left at the top, it is still more beautiful. The bamboo is used for water pipes and for fences, for furniture and picture tubes, for dippers, baskets, fishing poles, flower vases, candlesticks, wicker work, etc., etc.

In wood carving the Japanese have long been skilled. Specimens of work done hundreds of years ago and testifying to their taste, no less than to their deftness of hand, may be seen in their ancient palaces and temples.

Stone cutting is also an ancient industry here. There is an abundance of stone and granite, while the lanterns, Korean lions and sacred gates have furnished subjects for many a chisel. Osaka seems to be the center of the stone cutting industry.

The iron industry is represented by an increasing number of establishments. In many instances workmen have been brought from abroad and employed until Japanese artisans were sufficiently trained to take their place. Much of the iron work is still done in little shops and by hand, although machinery is being imported in large quantities.

I visited a tannery at Kagoshima and found that the proprietor had spent seven years in America learning the business, and that on his return he had taught native help each branch of the business. He is now turning out an excellent product.

One of the most promising industries in Japan is cotton spinning. There are a number of factories already in operation and new ones are building. I visited one of the plants of the Osaka Nippon Boseki Kaisha at Osaka. This company has about seventy thousand spindles and the mills employ nothing but native labor. Foreign artisans were used in the beginning, but are no longer needed. A great many women are employed and some children; for the latter a school is maintained for two hours a day in the building. Cotton yarn is now selling for about forty cents a pound and is becoming one of the leading articles of export; China is the largest purchaser. Some idea of the growth of this branch of industry can be gathered from the fact that the exports of cotton yarn amounted to less than four thousand dollars in 1891 and 1892; in 1896 it had grown to over two millions, in 1898 to over ten millions, and during the last two years it has averaged about fifteen millions.

At Osaka I also visited a brush industry and found that from bones, imported from the slaughter houses of America, and from bristles, purchased in Russia and in China, they made tooth, nail and hair brushes for export to both Europe and America. Here, too, they have dispensed with the foreign labor which they employed in the beginning.

Earthenware is manufactured in abundance and of every variety. The exports of porcelain and earthenware reached almost two million dollars last year. In Kyoto we visited a pottery and found two rooms in which the finished product was displayed; the first contained beautiful specimens of Japanese skill, graceful in shape and dainty in decoration; the second was filled with big pieces in loud colors and of inferior workmanship. These last articles, we were informed, were made especially for the American trade.

Some beautiful porcelain work is done in Kyoto, the decoration representing a high degree of artistic skill.

One of the most famous kinds of china produced by Japan is known as Satsuma ware, the glazing of which is of a peculiar tint and has a crackled appearance. The secret of the manufacture of this ware was brought from Korea by the captives taken in war some three hundred years ago, and the industry still flourishes in Japan, although it has perished in Korea. Kagoshima is the center for Satsuma ware, and a colony of Koreans living near there, as well as Japanese manufacturers, produce excellent specimens.

Lacquer work has been done in Japan from time immemorial, samples of which, centuries old, can be seen in temples, palaces and museums. When gold and silver are used in connection with the lacquer the product is often very valuable.

The bronzes produced in the little shops scattered over Japan give play to the artistic taste which one finds here. Osaka and Kyoto are noted for their bronzes. Sometimes various metals are inlaid in the forms of flowers, birds, animals and landscapes, producing a most pleasing effect. Then there are damascene factories and places for embroidery and for pictures made in cut velvet, etc., etc.

No one can pass through Japan without being impressed with the taste, which seems to be national, and with the delicate skill which has been handed down from generation to generation. And nothing, in my judgment, more clearly exhibits this union of taste and skill than the Cloisonne work. Upon a metallic base, as a vase, placque or box, an artist draws a design; this design is then outlined with fine wires of gold and silver, then enamels of various colors are filled in. When the enamels are hardened and the whole polished, the product is a thing of marvelous beauty.

I have not space to speak of the minor industries, such as paper making, matches (in which Japan monopolizes the trade of the East), fans, umbrellas, lanterns, napkins, etc. The Japanese lantern which we use for ornamentation is here a practical thing, in daily, or rather nightly, use. These lanterns hang in front of the houses and are carried on the streets. They are also used for illumination on festive occasions; at the time of the naval review and the reception to Admiral Togo, Yokohama and Tokyo were illuminated by these lanterns as I never saw an American city lighted.

When Japan was opened to the commerce of the world, there were few business houses or trading establishments of any size. Now there are several department stores and large wholesale houses, besides manufacturing and trading companies of importance. One business man in Tokyo, Mr. K. Okura, has a private collection of curios valued at one million dollars, which he offered to sell in Europe or America, the proceeds to be given to the government for carrying on the war against Russia. Osaka has a successful business man who has earned the name of the "Japanese Carnegie" by giving a fine library building to that city.

Consul General Miller, at Yokohama, and Consul Sharp, at Kobe, furnished me with interesting statistics regarding the commerce of Japan. Exports have increased from about eighty millions in 1891 to about three hundred and twenty millions in 1904; during the same period imports increased from a little more than sixty-three millions to a little more than three hundred and seventy-one millions. While our country sells less to Japan than Great Britain and British India, she buys more than any other nation from Japan. Our chief exports to Japan last year were electric motors, locomotive engines, steam boilers and engines, iron pipes, nails, lead, oil, paraffine wax, cotton drills, cotton duck, raw cotton, tobacco, coal, cars, turning lathes, condensed milk, flour and wheat. Of these items, flour, raw cotton and oil were by far the most valuable, each amounting to more than four and a half million dollars.

In the ocean carrying trade, Japan is making rapid strides. In ten years her registered steamers have increased from four hundred and sixty-one to twelve hundred and twenty-four and her sailing vessels from one hundred and ninety-six to three thousand five hundred and twenty-three. There are now two hundred private ship yards in Japan, and in 1903 they built two hundred and seventy-nine vessels. The Japan Mail Steamship Company has a paid-up capital of eleven million dollars, runs steamers between Japan, America, Europe and Asia and pays a ten per cent dividend on its capital. The Osaka Mercantile Steamship Company (Osaka Shosen Kaisha) has a paid-up capital of nearly three and a half million dollars, owns about one hundred vessels and pays a dividend of ten per cent. These are the largest companies, but there are many smaller ones, some paying dividends of sixteen and twenty per cent.

I will close this article with the suggestion that the mercantile marine seems likely to show large growth in the future, offering, as it does, a legitimate field for national expansion.

Japan's fishing industries furnish a training for seamen and her people seem at home upon the water. She needs more territory for her expanding population and has about reached the limit in the cultivation of her tillable land. Every additional ship manned by her citizens is like a new island, rising from the waves, upon which her increasing population can be supported. If she seeks to acquire land in any direction, she finds her efforts contested by the inhabitants already there; no wonder she hails with delight these floating farms constructed by the genius of her own people—new land, as it were, won and held without the sacrifice of war.

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Back of Japan's astonishing progress along material lines lies her amazing educational development. Fifty years ago but few of her people could read or write; now considerably less than ten per cent would be classed as illiterate. It is difficult to conceive of such a transformation taking place almost within a generation. The prompt adoption of western methods and the rapid assimilation of western ideas give indubitable proof of the pre-existence of a vital national germ. A pebble dropped into soil, however rich, and cultivated, no matter how carefully, gives back no response to the rays of the springtime sun. Only the seed which has life within can be awakened and developed by light and warmth and care. Japan had within her the vital spark, and when the winter of her isolation was passed, her latent energies burst forth into strong and sturdy growth.

Her sons, ambitious to know the world, scattered themselves throughout Europe and America, and having laden themselves with new ideas, returned to apply them at home. In this way Japan constantly gained from every quarter and her educational system is modeled after the best that the ages have produced. She has her primary schools for boys and girls, attendance being compulsory, and below these in many places there are kindergarten schools. The middle schools, in which the boys and girls are separated, take up the course of instruction where the primary schools leave off.

Then follow the universities, of which there are seven under the control of the government. Besides these there are in the cities institutions known as higher commercial schools, which combine general instruction with such special studies as are taught in our commercial colleges. There are also a number of normal schools for the training of teachers. In addition to the schools and colleges established and conducted by the government, there are a number founded by individuals and societies. The largest of these is Waseda College, founded and still maintained by Count Okuma, the leader of the progressive party. It is adjoining the home of the count and is built upon land which he donated. Dr. Hatoyama, at one time speaker of the national house of representatives, who holds a degree from Yale College, is the official head of this institution; in all of its departments it has some five thousand students.

I have referred in a former article to the Keio Gijuku, the college founded by Mr. Fukuzawa. The attendance here is not so large as at Waseda, but the institution has had an illustrious career and exerts a wide influence upon the country. I visited both of these colleges and never addressed more attentive or responsive audiences. As English is taught in all the middle schools, colleges and universities, the students are able to follow a speech in that language without an interpreter.

The state university at Tokyo includes six departments—law, medicine and engineering courses being provided, as well as courses in literature, science and agriculture. The total number of students enrolled at this university is about thirty-five hundred. The national university at Kyoto has three faculties—law, medicine and science—the last named including engineering; the attendance at this university is between six and seven hundred. In the states of Choshu and Satsuma there are higher schools supported by funds given by former feudal lords of those states.

The education of girls is not neglected, although as a rule the girls do not go as far in their studies as the boys. There are a number of normal schools and seventy-nine high schools for girls, besides the Peeresses' school and several private institutions. The Woman's University of Tokyo, situated near Waseda College and under the patronage of Count Okuma, has had a phenomenal career. Established only five years ago, it has now an enrollment of some seven hundred, and is putting up several new buildings.

There are also a number of missionary schools and colleges. The Presbyterians support three boarding schools for boys and eleven for girls, besides ten day schools; the total attendance at these schools is nearly twenty-three hundred.

The Congregationalists have a number of schools, the largest, Doshisha College at Kyoto, being the most influential Christian institution in Japan. I had the pleasure of visiting both this college and Kyoto University.

The Methodists have eighteen boarding schools and nineteen day schools with a total attendance of nearly five thousand. Their college at Kobe is a very promising institution.

The Baptists have a theological seminary, an academy, five boarding schools for girls and eight day schools, with a total attendance of nearly a thousand. The Episcopal Church has also taken an important part in educational work, while the Catholics (who were first on the ground) have over sixty seminaries, schools and orphanages, with an attendance of some six thousand.

The Japanese government supports more than twenty-five thousand primary schools, attended by over five million boys and girls; it supports more than two hundred and fifty middle schools, with an attendance of nearly one hundred thousand. While less than two per cent of the primary students enter the middle schools, more than ten per cent of the middle school students enter the higher colleges.

Although these figures give some idea of the interest taken in education, they do not furnish an adequate conception of the enthusiasm with which a large number of these students pursue their studies. Nearly fifty young men called upon me or wrote to me asking to be taken to America that they might continue their studies. Many of the leading men in Japan to-day are graduates of American or European colleges. The physicians have shown a preference for German schools, while to engineers and politicians our universities have been more attractive. A part of the friendliness felt toward foreigners can be traced to the favors shown Japanese boys who left home in search of knowledge. Marquis Ito, one of the first of these, owes much to an elder of the Presbyterian Church in England in whose home he lived as a student, and the marquis has ever since been making returns in kindness to foreigners and Christians.

Marquis Ito's case is not exceptional; all over Japan are men who hold in grateful remembrance Americans and Europeans to whom they are indebted for assistance. I met a man, now the publisher of an influential paper, who twenty years ago, at the age of sixteen, went to sea and in a shipwreck was cast upon one of the islands in the South Pacific. He became a retainer for the king of the islands and as such wore the scanty native dress, consisting of a loin cloth. He went with his king to Honolulu to pay a visit to the Hawaiian queen, and finding a Japanese settlement there, remained for two or three years. He then went to the United States and, making a friend of a professor in one of the universities, attended school there for several years. He now visits the United States every year or so on business, and one seeing him wearing a silk hat and a Prince Albert coat would hardly guess the experiences through which he has risen to his present position. If Japan, beginning fifty years ago with no educational system and scarcely any educated men or women, could accomplish what she has accomplished in half a century, what will she accomplish in the twentieth century, with the start which she now has and with the educational advantages which her people now enjoy?

Japan has several religions, although Shintoism has been, since 1868, the state religion. As a matter of fact, however, Shintoism can hardly be called a religion for it has no creed, no priesthood and no code of morals. It is really ancestor worship and comes down from time immemorial. It implies a belief in immortality, for the ancestral spirits are invoked and vows are paid to them at the numberless shrines that dot the country. These shrines are not usually in temples, although sometimes Shintoism and Buddhism have been mixed together and one temple employed for both shrines; as a rule, however, the Shinto shrine is in some secluded spot on the top of a hill or on a mountain side where a bit of natural scenery awakens a spirit of reverence. A gate of simple but beautiful design is placed at the point where the pathway to the shrine departs from the main road. We had read of these Shinto gates and had seen pictures of them, but we first saw one at Honolulu, itself the gateway to the Orient. No description can convey to the reader the impression which this gate makes upon the traveler; its outlines are so graceful and yet so strong that it seems an appropriate portal to a holy place.

The moral code of Confucius has also influenced the thought of Japan.

About fourteen hundred years ago the Buddhist religion was introduced into Japan by Chinese priests, and it spread rapidly throughout the islands. Its temples were imposing, its ceremonies impressive and the garb of its priests costly and elaborate. It did not root out Shintoism, it simply overwhelmed and absorbed it. The Buddhist temples, though not as popular as they once were, are still visited by millions of believers and are objects of interest to the tourist. Most of them are old, one at Nara having been built about the year 700. It is in such an excellent state of preservation that one can hardly believe that it has stood the storms of twelve centuries.

In the center of the temple is an image of Buddha, and on either side the figure of a huge warrior. There is also in this temple a God of War to which the Japanese were wont to pay their vows before going to battle. The devout Buddhist, approaching the image of the founder of his religion, bows and mutters a prayer, half audibly, and, throwing his mite in a box or on the floor before the shrine, departs. There is usually a bell, or sometimes only a chain, hanging above the place where prayers are said, and the suppliant swings a rope against the bell or shakes the chain before his prayer and claps his hands two or three times at its close. We inquired about the bell and received two answers: One, that it was to attract the attention of the god, and the other that it was to awaken the conscience of the one about to present his petition.

Near the temple at Nara stands an ugly image which never fails to attract the attention of the visitor. It is literally covered with paper wads which have been thrown against it by worshipers at the temple in the belief that their prayers would be answered if the wads adhered to the image. There is also at Nara a huge bell, almost as old as the temple. This bell is about thirteen feet high, nine feet in diameter and eight inches thick. It hangs in a pagoda quite near the ground, and when struck upon the side by a swinging log gives forth a sound of wonderful depth and richness. It was rung for us, and as its mellow tones reverberated along the hills we were awed by the thought that a thousand years before our Declaration of Independence was written, eight hundred years before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock, yes, even seven hundred years before America was discovered, this old bell was calling people to worship.

There is at Nara an immense bronze image of Buddha, even larger than the famous one at Kamokura, though not so finely proportioned. The smaller one is forty-nine feet in height and nearly one hundred feet in circumference (both represent Buddha, seated tailor-fashion, on a lotus flower) and the larger one is almost twice as large as the smaller one. The lantern of stone or bronze seems to be as necessary an adjunct to a Buddhist temple as the Shinto gate is to that form of religion. At Nara there are twenty-nine hundred stone lanterns of various sizes along the walks that lead from one temple to another, and they are found in abundance in other cities. The Korean lions are also identified with Buddhistic worship, these animals wrought in bronze or carved in stone guarding all temple doors. They are not as ferocious in appearance as the Numidian lion, and they illustrate an idea. One has his mouth open and the other has his mouth tightly shut, and they together represent the affirmative and the negative, or, in other words, the eternal conflict between the positive and the negative—one says yes, the other no.

Nara has an additional attraction in the form of a beautiful park containing some seven hundred deer, which are here regarded as sacred animals. They are so gentle that they will come, old and young, and eat from the hand.

Next to Nara, in our opinion, and in the opinion of many even before Nara, comes Nikko in beauty and interest. The spot was wisely chosen for a temple, a foaming stream, rugged mountains and stately trees adding to the attractiveness of the place. There is a shaded avenue twenty-five miles long leading from the lowlands to the temple, and it is said that when other feudal lords were bringing stone lanterns, one poor daimio, unable to make so large a gift, offered to plant little trees along the way; these, now three hundred years old, furnish a grateful shade for the pilgrims who visit this Mecca, and the poor tree planter is now known as "The Wise Daimio who went into partnership with Nature."

The temple at Nikko is only about three centuries old and its decorations are the richest and most costly to be found in Japan. As the Buddhists and Shintoists worship together here, the temple is kept in repair by the government and one can see the best in architecture and ornamentation that the temples exhibit. So famous are this temple and its environment that the Japanese have a phrase which when translated means, "You cannot say beautiful (kekko) until you have seen Nikko."

The most modern of the large temples is that at Kyoto. It was erected about thirty years ago on the site of one which had burned. It is not so large as the original, but is a reproduction in other respects and is one of the thirty-three temples to which pilgrimages are made. Some estimate can be formed of the ardor of those who worship here when it is known that the immense timbers used in the construction of the building were dragged through the streets and lifted into place by cables made of human hair contributed by Japanese women for that purpose. One of these cables, nearly three inches in diameter and several hundred feet long, is still kept in a room adjacent to the temple, the others having been destroyed by fire. Japanese women pride themselves upon their hair and arrange it with great care. What a poem of piety—what a strong sacrifice in these myriad strands of mingled black and grey!

All of the Buddhist temples stand within a walled enclosure, entered through a gorgeous gate which contrasts sharply with the simplicity of the Shinto gate. The Buddhist gate has a roof resembling a temple roof and is often ornamented with animals, birds and fantastic figures carved in wood. As an illustration of the superstition to be found among the ignorant, the following incident is given: An American, Mr. Frederick W. Horne, who lives at Yokohama and who has built up a large importing business in American machinery, has a handsome new home modeled after a Buddhist temple. At one gable he put a devil's head. The servants of the man living next door threatened to leave because the devil looked over into that yard. But they were quieted when the neighbor put two brass cannon on his roof and pointed them at the devil's head. The story seems too absurd to believe, but we were shown the cannons when we called at Mr. Horne's.

But Buddhism is losing its hold upon the Japanese; its temples are not crowded as they once were; its ceremonies do not interest and its teachings do not satisfy the new generation. Christianity will appeal more and more to the educated element of the Japanese population. Already favor is taking the place of toleration, as toleration thirty years ago supplanted persecution.

The Catholics, who have been the pioneers of the Cross in so many lands, brought Christianity to Japan through their missionaries about the middle of the sixteenth century. The success of the Jesuits was so pronounced that in thirty years they estimated their converts at one hundred and fifty thousand. In fact, the adherents to Christianity became so numerous and so influential that the Shogun, Hideyoshi, began to fear for his temporal power, and, having absolute authority, he expelled the foreigners, closed the ports and established the policy of non-intercourse with other nations—a policy which was followed until 1853. When the country was again opened to Christian missionaries it was found that some ten thousand men and women were still worshiping according to the forms of the Catholic Church, although for two and a half centuries there had been no communication between them and the church outside. Even after the opening of the country to foreign commerce there was some persecution of Christians and several thousand were imprisoned. But in 1873 the prisoners were set at liberty and the exiles allowed to return; since that time there has been absolute religious freedom and many men prominent in official life have been devoted Christians. The most noted of these native Christians was Mr. Kataoka, who was four times chosen speaker of the popular branch of the Japanese congress, or diet. He was an elder in the Presbyterian Church, and when it was suggested that it would advance his political chances to resign his eldership, he replied that if compelled to choose between them he would rather be an elder than speaker.

The Catholic population of Japan numbered fifty-eight thousand in 1903; at the last report the Protestant communicants numbered nearly fifty-one thousand. There are among the natives four hundred and forty-two ordained ministers, five hundred and fifty-nine unordained ministers and helpers, and one hundred and eighty-six theological students. I met a number of Japanese Christians and was profoundly impressed by their earnestness and devotion. There is a large Y. M. C. A. at Tokyo and a smaller one at Kyoto; at Kagoshima I found a Women's Christian Association. While I have met American missionaries everywhere, I have tried to gather information from Japanese sources as well and have been gratified to find such cordial co-operation between foreign and native Christians. A physician in the navy introduced himself and volunteered the information that one American woman had undertaken the establishment of Christian clubs at the various naval stations, and within five years had gathered together more than five hundred members. He said that she met with opposition from the authorities at first, but now has their hearty support. The war with Russia, while retarding the work of the Greek Church among the Japanese, has been utilized by other denominations to reach a large number of sailors with Bibles and pamphlets.

Japan needs the Christian religion; a nation must have some religion and she has outgrown Buddhism. The ideals presented by these two systems are in many respects diametrically opposed to each other. One looks forward, the other backward; one regards life as a blessing to be enjoyed and an opportunity to be improved, the other sees in it only evil from which escape should be sought; one crowns this life with immortality, the other adds to a gloomy existence the darker night of annihilation; one offers faith as the inspiration to noble deeds, the other presents a plan for the perfecting of self with no sense of responsibility to God to prompt it or promise of reward to encourage it; one enlarges the sympathies and links each individual with all other human beings, the other turns the thought inward in search of perpetual calm.

Christianity dominates Europe and the western hemisphere, while Buddhism still holds the Orient under its drowsy spell. On the islands of Japan a struggle is now going on between these two great religious systems, and the triumph of the Gospel of Love and of consecrated activity in the Land of the Rising Sun will open the way to a still larger triumph in Asia.

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The government of Japan is a constitutional monarchy in which the emperor not only claims to rule by divine right but by right of divine birth. He is described as Heaven born, and according to the accepted history there has been no break in the family line for twenty-five hundred years. Among no people on earth has there ever been more universal respect shown, or implicit obedience yielded, to the reigning family. There never has been a revolt of any consequence against the emperor, although there have been numerous conflicts between the shoguns. For about twelve hundred years, from 670 to 1868, the shoguns were, however, the actual rulers, and while they never questioned the sovereignty of the emperor, they did not allow him to retain much more than the empty title.

The shoguns were military rulers and a number of them were men of great force and executive ability. First, the Fujiwara family controlled the country through the shogunate for nearly four hundred years; then for a century the Taira and Minamoto families alternated in the exercise of power; then came the Hojo family and others of less importance until finally the Tokugawa family became supreme in the shogunate and continued in power for something like three hundred years. The emperor lived at Nara until about 1600, when the capital was moved to Kyoto, where it remained until less than forty years ago. Tokyo, on the other hand, was the seat of the shogun power, and there is a very noticeable difference between the two cities. The shoguns fortified their castles and required the feudal lords to keep headquarters in Tokyo. One cannot go through the palace in which the emperor lived permanently without noticing how plain it is as compared with the castle (both at Kyoto) in which the shogun resided for a few days during his annual call upon the emperor. While it may seem strange that the real rulers never attempted to become emperors in name, it only shows their intelligence, for by not insisting upon the recognition of the royal family they were probably more successful in maintaining the real authority than they would have been had they questioned the divine right of the immemorial rulers.

During the early part of the last century there began to be a reaction against the shogun, and when he agreed to the treaties opening the country to foreign intercourse, his action was taken advantage of by the friends of the emperor. When the feudal lords of Choshu attacked the foreign ships at Shimonoseki Strait, the shogun was compelled to pay an indemnity of three million dollars and he attempted to chastise the Choshu leaders. His forces were defeated and he died soon afterward. The emperor seized upon this event and with the aid of the influential lords of Choshu and Satsuma abolished the shogunate in 1868. The new shogun accepted the situation without a struggle and those of his followers who attempted a resistance were soon routed.

Everything in modern Japan dates from 1868, which is called the restoration. While in the restoration the emperor was acknowledged as the sole and absolute ruler in whom all authority was vested, still it was really the beginning of constitutional government, for the emperor voluntarily promised his people a constitution, a promise which was not finally fulfilled until 1889.

The fervor of patriotism that restored to the emperor his original authority wrought wonders in Japan. The feudal lords came forward and voluntarily turned their vast estates over to the emperor and relinquished the authority which they had exercised over their tenants; then they joined with the samurai (their former retainers) in supporting the emperor in abolishing all social distinctions. From that day to this the country has grown more and more democratic, the reforms working from the upper classes down.

In 1889 the constitution promised by the emperor was promulgated. It was prepared largely by Marquis Ito who visited Germany and modeled the document after the Prussian constitution. The legislative power is vested in a diet consisting of two houses, one resembling the English house of lords, and the other resembling our house of representatives. The upper house is composed of the princes of the royal blood, marquises (these sit by virtue of their rank), counts, viscounts and barons, selected from among their respective classes, men of erudition or distinguished service appointed by the emperor, and one representative from each prefecture or state, selected by the highest taxpayers. The members of the diet, except those who sit by virtue of their rank, receive two thousand yen (one thousand dollars) per year. The members of the house of representatives are divided among the states in proportion to the number of franchise holders; last year they numbered three hundred and twenty-three and were voted for by seven hundred and fifty-seven thousand franchise holders. The franchise holders numbered less than ten per cent of the men of voting age, there being a property qualification which excludes from suffrage more than nine-tenths of the adult males.

The emperor appoints the governors of the various states, and these need not be selected from the states over which they preside. The emperor has the right to convoke and prorogue the diet and to dissolve the house of representatives; he also has the right to issue urgency ordinances when the diet is not in session, the same to be submitted for approval to the next session.

The constitution contains a bill of rights. Among other rights the Japanese subjects shall enjoy freedom of religious belief "within limits not prejudicial to peace and order and not antagonistic to their duties as subjects," and "within the limits of law" they shall enjoy "the liberty of speech, writing, publication, public meeting and association." After the Tokyo riots which followed the announcement of the treaty with Russia an urgency ordinance was issued restraining the press and certain newspapers were suspended under this ordinance, but it is probable that this urgency ordinance will be vigorously discussed at the coming session of the diet.

The emperor is assisted in the discharge of his executive duties by a prime minister and nine department ministers; besides these he has the advice of a privy council, composed of elder statesmen, of which Marquis Ito is now the president.

Each state has what corresponds to our legislature, and each city has a council; both of these bodies are elective and to the city council is entrusted the selection of the mayor.

They have a judiciary, federal and local, appointed for life, but no jury system. Among the laws is one forbidding aliens to own property, although this is avoided to some extent by long time leases. There is also a law by which a debt descends with the property to the oldest son, even though the debt may exceed the property.

Through the courtesy of Hon. N. W. McIvor, former consul general at Yokohama, now engaged in the practice of international law, I had an opportunity to meet a number of governors and congressmen and found them, as a rule, an intelligent and accomplished body of men, many of them having finished their education abroad. Their most famous minister of finance, Count Matsukata, bore some resemblance to J. Pierpont Morgan.

They have politics in Japan. The promise of a constitution seems to have been given by the emperor before there was any general agitation for it, but as about twenty-one years elapsed between the making of the promise and the realization of the hopes excited by it, there was a period of discussion. As early as 1874 several of the ministers joined in a petition asking for the promulgation of the promised constitution. Their memorial being disregarded they resigned their offices and became the founders of a democratic party. They called themselves liberals and their efforts resulted in an imperial rescript issued in 1881, fixing 1889 as the date for the beginning of constitutional government. Marquis Ito is now the leader of the liberal party, which had one hundred and thirty members in the house of representatives in 1904.

In 1882 Count Okuma organized the progressive party, which had last year a membership of ninety in the house of representatives. This is known as the party of the opposition, Marquis Ito's party being the power behind the throne. There is not as much difference between the platforms of these parties as between the platforms of the two leading parties of our country, but of the two Count Okuma's party is the more radical. The count himself is a born leader and exerts a large influence upon the politics of his country. When premier some years ago he lost a leg by the explosion of a bomb, thrown with murderous intent by a political opponent, but it did not diminish his zeal in the prosecution of reforms. The fact that there were in the last diet one hundred and thirty who styled themselves independents shows that there is a considerable body to which the opposition party can appeal when the minister makes an unpopular move.

Besides the party organizations there are a number of societies formed for the study of political questions. There are economic associations in a number of the cities, composed of the leading business and professional men. I met the members of these societies at Tokyo, Osaka and Nagoya and was impressed with the attention that they are giving to economic problems. They have in Tokyo another organization called the Political Economy Association which deals more directly with matters of government. The society formed by the men who were educated in America, known as the Friends of America (Baron Kaneko is one of the leading members), takes a deep interest in all matters relating to government and political economy.

The leading political question in Japan to-day, in so far as it affects domestic affairs, is whether the cabinet shall be selected by the emperor, regardless of the prevailing sentiment in the house, or be made to conform to the will of the people as expressed through their representatives. At present the emperor's councilors are chosen at his own discretion and the states of Satsuma and Choshu have had a controlling influence in the selection of the emperor's advisors. The democratic sentiment of the country is at this time crystallizing in favor of the demand that the emperor take for his premier the leader of the popular party, as the king of England does. However much this reform may be delayed by circumstances, it is bound to come if Japan is to recognize the rights of the people to govern themselves.

In the cities, sanitation furnishes a most difficult problem. At present there is little sewage, although there is a pressing need for it.

In the industrial development of Japan the people must meet the problem of child labor and also consider the shortening of the length of the working day. Women now work twelve hours in the factory and one cannot see them and the children at toil without asking whether Japan can afford to impair the strength of the next generation for any advantage which may be derived from such long hours and such youthful labor. This subject is likely to be brought before the next session of the diet.

In some reforms Japan has moved more rapidly than the United States. Wherever she has waterworks in her cities, they are owned and operated by the municipalities. She also has a telegraph system and a telephone system operated by the national government. Telegrams are sent at the same rate to all parts of the empire and the service is satisfactory.

The telephone service is not so good. While it is all right as far as it goes, the system is not extended as rapidly as the demand requires. In Tokyo, for instance, those who want to install telephones have to wait until someone discontinues his 'phone or is willing to sell it, and a bonus is often demanded. If the local telephones were owned by the city and only the interurban lines managed by the imperial government, the service would respond more quickly to the needs of the community.

The Japanese government also owns and operates a part of the railroad system, and in doing so employs nothing but native help. I traveled on both the government and private lines and could not see that they differed materially so far as efficiency was concerned.

The first-class fare is about four cents per mile (in our money) the second-class about two cents and the third-class (nearly all the travel is third-class) about one cent. A reduction of twenty per cent is made on return tickets, a reduction of from twenty to thirty per cent on commutation tickets, and a reduction of from forty-five to eighty per cent on season tickets for students. This reduction to students might be imitated to advantage in our country. The government road is all, or nearly all, double track and has the latest safeguards for the protection of passengers at depots. The Japanese are much given to meeting friends when they arrive and escorting them to the train when they leave, and this custom has led to the sale of platform tickets for one cent (in our money).

Japan has two educational problems: First, the increase in the percentage of those going from the primary to the middle schools; and, second, the cultivation of an ideal which will connect a respect for manual labor with intellectual advancement. To-day a large majority of her people work with their hands and at labor which forbids the wearing of good clothes. It is probable that the education of the masses will show itself to some extent in improved methods and in the more extensive use of animals and machinery, but there must remain a large amount of work which requires daily contact with the soil. The rice crop grows in the mud and cannot be harvested by machinery; the fields, too, are so small that they cannot well be cultivated with the aid of animals. The farmers' boys and girls are now going to school and gradually adopting the European dress. Will they be content to return to the paddy fields when they have finished their education? Some of the young men pull 'rikishas in the daytime in order to earn money to attend school at night. Will their learning make them unwilling to do hard work? Or will they substitute the cab for the 'rikisha?

Japan faces the educational problem that confronts the civilized world, viz., how to put behind a trained mind an ideal which will make the educated citizen anxious to do service rather than to be waited upon. Tolstoy's solution of the problem is "bread labor," that is, physical toil sufficient to produce what one eats. This he believes will teach respect for labor and by dignifying it unite all parts of society in sympathetic co-operation. Has any better solution been proposed?

With a broader educational foundation Japan will find it necessary to extend the suffrage. At present the right to vote is determined by a strict property qualification, but there is already an urgent demand for the reduction of the tax qualification, and it will not be long before a large addition will be made to the voting population.

The most serious national problem with which Japan has to deal is that imposed upon her by the attempt to extend the sphere of her political influence to Formosa on the southwest and Korea on the northwest. The people of Formosa do not welcome Japanese sovereignty and an army of some six or seven thousand is kept on that island to support Japanese authority.

But Korea presents a still more delicate and perplexing situation. For more than a thousand years a feud has existed between Japan and Korea and two attempts have been made by the former to invade the latter, the last about three hundred years ago. At that time a number of captives were carried back to Kagoshima where they, as before mentioned, introduced the art of making what has since been known as Satsuma ware. The fact that the descendants of these captives lived in a colony by themselves for three centuries without intermarrying with the Japanese is sufficient evidence of the feeling entertained toward them by their captors.

To aggravate the matter Japan has been engaged in two wars, first with China and then with Russia, over Korea, and it was also the cause of one civil war in Japan. Having driven China from Korea ten years ago and now having driven Russia out, she is undertaking to exercise a protectorate over the country. When it is remembered that Korea is separated from both Manchuria and Siberia by an imaginary line and that the Koreans themselves regard the Japanese as intruders, some estimate can be formed of Japan's task. In a future article on Korea I shall speak on this subject more at length, but the matter is referred to here because the experiment is as dangerous to Japan as it is to Korea.

Will Japan be able to accomplish what other nations have failed to do, viz., exercise a colonial power without abusing it and without impoverishing herself?

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Poor little Korea! One hardly knows whether to be amused or grieved, so strangely have comedy and tragedy been blended in her history.

Mr. Griffiths in his very comprehensive book bearing that title, calls Korea the "Hermit Nation," and the appellation was a fitting one until within a generation. Since that time she might be described as a bone of contention, for she has been the cause of several bloody quarrels.

The position of Korea on the map of Asia very much resembles Florida's position on the map of North America, and Japan's relative position is something like that which Cuba bears to Florida. Separated on the south from Japan by about a hundred miles of water and joining both China and Russia on the north, it is not strange that all three of these nations have looked upon her with covetous eyes and begrudged each other any advantage obtained. The surface of Korea is quite mountainous, the ranges and valleys extending for the most part from the northeast to the southwest. Until recently the country was inaccessible and few of the white race have penetrated the interior. A few years ago a railroad was built from Seoul thirty-five miles west to Chemulpo, the nearest seaport. Since then the Japanese have built a road from Seoul north to Pen Yang, and southeast to Fusan. The last line, which has been finished less than a year, is two hundred and seventy-five miles long and connects the Korean capital with the nearest seaport to Japan. This railroad is of such great military importance to Japan that she aided the building to the extent of guaranteeing six per cent interest on the investment for fifteen years, with the provision that the cost of the road should not exceed twenty-five million yen. The Korean government gave the right of way for the road and the free admission of material imported for its construction and equipment. The engines and cars are of American style and make, and the road is standard gauge. It is now so easy to pass through Korea in going from Japan to Pekin that the tourist should not miss its strange and interesting sights, but the trip should be made before November. We took the train at Fusan and made the ride nearly all the way in daylight, thus having an opportunity to see both the country and the people. The road crosses three rivers and the water sheds which separate them, making the construction of the road extremely difficult. The mountains are bare, and we were informed that they had been denuded by the natives and the wood used for fuel. The Koreans sometimes blame the Japanese for the appearance of the country and attributed it to the invasion three hundred years ago; an intelligent son of Japan replied that as his country recovered from earthquake shocks within a few years, the Koreans should have been able to remove the traces of an invasion in less than three centuries.

The valleys are fertile but in tillage and in evidences of industry they do not approach the valleys of Japan. One misses the orchards, the trees, the vines and the flowers which are ever present in "The Land of the Rising Sun."

Rice is the principal crop in the south, while barley and wheat are more cultivated in the north. Beans and peas are also raised in large quantities and last year constituted the chief article of export. Rice, while often the largest export, fell below beans and peas that year and was closely followed by hides and ginseng. There are some gold mines, the export of this ore amounting to nearly fifty thousand dollars last year, but the country has been so isolated that its mineral wealth has not been exhaustively explored.

The population of Korea is variously estimated at from eight to fifteen millions. The men are larger than the Japanese and somewhat lighter in color but not so alert. Like the Japanese they have rather a scanty beard, but it seems to be more fashionable for the older men to allow their chin whiskers to grow. In dress the Korean man is unique. He wears a long white coat of thin cotton reaching to the knees, with trousers generally of white, very full in the seat and tied around the ankles. The vest is of red, blue or green if he is not in mourning, but mourning seems to be a permanent occupation in Korea. It was explained to us that white is the color used for mourning and that the mourning period lasts three years. When one of the royal family dies, all of the people wear mourning for the full period, and as they have sometimes had three royal funerals within a decade, white came into general use as a matter of economy.

The hat ordinarily worn is made of horse hair and has a high crown, and being only about a third as large as our hats, it sits upon the top of the head without covering it. It has a narrow brim of the same material and is tied on with strings under the chin. These hats are generally black, although different colors may be seen upon the street; sometimes an enormous straw hat is used for mourning.

The unmarried men wear the hair in one long braid like a Chinese pigtail, but when one marries he combs his hair to the top of his head and ties it in a stiff top knot which is visible through the gauze hat. The foot is encased in a sock, padded with cotton, and a canoe shaped shoe of grass, cloth, leather or wood.

The women, except those of the coolie class, are seldom seen on the street in the daytime, and the men are not allowed on the street at night, or were not until western ways began to invade the island. Even when going out the women wear over their heads a green cape with scarlet sleeves and draw it across the face in such a way that little more than the eyes can be seen. The streets of Seoul and of the towns through which we passed were full of men, many of them walking about in a leisurely way or standing in groups smoking long pipes. Mingled with them were coolies carrying immense packs on their backs or leading ponies, oxen or cows laden with hay, wood or fagots. We saw more idle men in two days in Korea than we saw in Japan in a month. While the coolies seem to be quite industrious and carry astonishing weights, there seems to be a deep-rooted contempt for labor—even among the middle classes, and a contractor told us that in the employing of the coolies it was necessary to pay them every day because a week's compensation would have to be spent before they would return to work. An incident will serve to illustrate the feeling in regard to labor of any kind. In making a purchase we wanted two things tied together with a string. We called the guide's attention to it; he handed the things to his attendant and the attendant handed them to the shopkeeper, who did the tying. We were also informed that the Koreans lack the power of organized co-operation. Each one works by himself and carries his burden on forked sticks strapped to his back. In walking he uses what seems like a staff, but its real purpose is that of a prop for his load when he stops to rest.

The shopkeepers of Korea have the oriental taste for bargaining to a marked degree and always ask a great deal more than they expect to receive, finding, apparently, intellectual recreation in haggling over the price. In making a few small purchases we were very much amused at the spirited discussions which took place between our guide and the merchants. Followed by a crowd of interested spectators, numbering from twenty to fifty, we moved from shop to shop. The vendor would announce a price as if his was a one-price store. The guide would receive the announcement with absolute contempt and the wordy war would begin. The bystanders took sides and joined in the fray; the clerks and members of the storekeeper's family flocked to his aid, while the crowd elbowed each other to get nearer the scene of action. Usually the guide would start toward another store before an agreement could be reached, sometimes less than half of the original price was settled upon, and in the calm which followed the storm, everyone seemed satisfied. We heard of instances where one-eighth of the price asked was finally accepted, but either the merchants with whom we dealt were more reasonable or our guide yielded too soon.

The Korean houses are entirely different from those of Japan; they are not so high nor so large but are more warmly built. They are usually constructed of stone set in mud and have poorly thatched roofs of straw; occasionally tile is used. Often the earth supplies a floor except for the little sleeping rooms, which have floors of stone covered with oiled paper. These rooms are heated by flues under the floors which conduct the flame and smoke to a chimney which opens on the side of the house. Leaves, fagots, coarse grass and all sorts of trash are used for fuel and these stone floors, heated twice a day, keep the small rooms quite comfortable.

The people sit on the floor as in Japan, except that they sit cross-legged instead of sitting on the feet, and sleep on mats spread on the floor at night and stowed away during the day.

While in Seoul we were, through the courtesy of Rev. S. F. Moore, one of the missionaries, invited to the wedding of two Korean Christians and after the ceremony had a chance to inspect the house of the groom's father. It was quite neat and clean, but the houses generally as seen from the narrow streets are dirty and uninviting. One wonders where the men keep the long white coats of which they seem so proud, until he is informed that the wives wash and iron them at night while the lord of the household sleeps.

Speaking of the marriage, I must as a truthful chronicler record that the young man whom we saw married (they marry young in Korea and the marriages are arranged by the parents) had a pleasant face and that the bride was modest and comely. He wore a dark red, loose-fitting coat, a wide belt and a black gauze hat of indescribable shape. The girl wore a green silk waist which, just below the armpits, joined a very full skirt of red. Her head was ornamented with two very large rolls of hair which, according to custom, were borrowed for the occasion. We were informed that the wedding clothes are often rented and that even the goose, which in the native ceremony the wife presents to the husband as a symbol of constancy, is obtained in the same way. As in this case the Christian ceremony was used, the couple did not pledge themselves according to the native practice by saying "Black is the hair that now crowns our heads, yet when it has become as white as the fibers of the onion root, we shall still be found faithful to each other," but as among the non-Christian Koreans the man is allowed to take a concubine into his home whenever he is able to support one, the pledge would seem to be a mere formality on his part.

Seoul, the capital and largest city, is surrounded by a substantial wall and entered by gates which until recently were shut at night even though the city long ago outgrew the walls. These gates remind one of the gates described in the Bible, and they are not lacking in the beggar who finds the gate a convenient place to make his plea to the passerby. Aside from two or three broad thoroughfares, the streets are narrow, crooked and filthy. The open sewers on each side are filled with refuse matter and reek with foul odors.

There is no general educational system in Korea, and the percentage of illiteracy is naturally large. The missionary schools are doing an excellent work and a few of the young men have been sent to China, Japan and America. During recent years there has been quite an awakening among the young men, and they are showing an increased desire to learn about western civilization. So great is this interest that a newly organized branch of the Young Men's Christian Association at Seoul has a membership of over five hundred, four-fifths of whom are not professing Christians but are drawn to the institution because it gives them a chance to study western problems and methods. Mr. Wanamaker, the merchant prince of Philadelphia, has just offered to supply the money necessary for a permanent Y. M. C. A. building in Seoul, and having addressed a meeting in the present crowded quarters, I can testify that a new hall is badly needed.

The Chinese characters are used in writing, but the Koreans have a spoken language which is quite different. There is no extensive literature that can be called Korean, although Dr. Allen, for many years American minister at Seoul, has published, in a volume entitled "Korea: Facts and Fancies," a number of delightful folklore stories, which show an appreciation of the love story and a very clear recognition of the personal virtues as illustrated in daily life. Dr. Allen's book also contains an interesting chronology of the principal events, but it is significant of the change wrought by foreign influence that it only requires twelve pages to record the things worth mentioning from the beginning of the Christian era down to 1876, while eighty pages are devoted to the things that have transpired since.

In examining the pages devoted to the last century one is struck with the disinclination of the Korean government to accept the offers of intercourse made by the various nations of Europe since 1875, and with the number of missionaries who suffered for religion's sake prior to that date. Persecution, however, seems to have increased rather than diminished the zeal of the various denominations, and to-day Korea is regarded as one of the most promising of the missionary fields. While Confucianism has influenced Korea, Buddhism never gained such a foothold in this country as in China and Japan. There are no gorgeous temples here, and for five hundred years (and until recently) Buddhist priests were not allowed within the walls of Seoul. There are missionary stations throughout the country, and at Peng Yang there is a native congregation of fifteen hundred. At Seoul a modern hospital, built with money given by Mr. Severance, of Cleveland, Ohio, has been opened by Dr. Avison, where, besides care for the sick, medical training is furnished to natives who desire to fit themselves for this profession. I was assured by Dr. Avison and by missionaries that young Koreans, both men and women, learn quickly and are faithful assistants. The medical missionary, being in an excellent position to show his Christian spirit by helpful service, is doing much to aid in the propagation of our religion in the Orient. In this connection I might add that Dr. Allen went to Korea as a medical missionary and became the emperor's physician. This intimate relation gave our country a good standing when the doctor afterward became the American minister. These friendly relations are still maintained through present Minister Morgan.

The government of Korea is an absolute monarchy and has a reigning family which has held the throne for about five hundred years. All authority emanates from the emperor and is exercised through ministers, governors and subordinate officials, appointed by him. If one can trust the stories afloat, the government is as corrupt an organization as can be found on earth. Just who is responsible is not clearly known, but that offices are sold and all sorts of extortion practiced there can scarcely be doubt. There is no spirit of patriotism such as is to be found in Japan, and why should there be when the government gives so little in return for the burdens which it imposes?

Changes in the cabinet are of frequent occurrence, there having been something like sixty within a year.

For a long time Chinese influence was paramount in Korea and the Chinese government had a resident minister in Seoul who was the confidential advisor of the royal family. But Chinese influence ended with Japan's victory in 1894; soon afterward Queen Min, the wife of the present emperor, was put to death and, the murder being charged to the Japanese, the emperor took refuge at the Russian legation. Now that Japan has driven Russia out, she is virtually in control of the country, although the nominal sovereignty of the emperor has not been interfered with. Just what form the Japanese protectorate will take has not yet been decided, or at least has not yet been announced. Marquis Ito is in Seoul now as the representative of his government conferring with the emperor and his ministry.

In the end the protectorate will be whatever Japan desires to have it, for neither Korea nor Russia nor China is in a position to question her decision. Besides building railroads through Korea, the Japanese have established banks and issued a currency for Korea in place of the copper cash generally used. The government, recognizing the inconvenience of a currency which had to be kept in huge boxes and paid out at the rate of a thousand or more to the dollar, had farmed out the right to coin nickels and these were soon counterfeited. The counterfeit nickels have been classified as, first, better than the originals; second, good imitations; third, poor imitations; and fourth, those that can only be passed on a dark night.

Japanese soldiers are to be seen everywhere and Japanese settlements are to be found in all the larger cities. The Koreans, as a rule, regard the new Japanese invasion with silent distrust and are in doubt whether the purpose of Japan is simply to protect herself from future danger at the hands of China and Russia, or whether she is expecting to colonize Korea with her own people. If Japan purifies the government and makes it honest; if she establishes schools and raises the intellectual standard of the people; if she revives the industries now fallen into decay and introduces new ones; if, in other words, she exercises her power for the upbuilding of Korea and for the advancement of the Korean people, she may in time overcome the prejudice which centuries of hostility have created. But what nation has ever exercised power in this way? And how can Japan do it without developing an educated class which will finally challenge her authority? If she keeps the Koreans in ignorance and poverty, they will be sullen subjects; if she leads them to higher levels they will the more quickly demand their independence and be the better prepared to secure it. Which course will she pursue?[1]

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The contrast between the China of antiquity—hoary with age—and the new China—just awakening into life—is so great as to suggest the treatment of the two periods in different articles. And if the contrast between China of yesterday and the China of to-day is great, what shall we say of the contrast between the Flowery Kingdom and our own country? The same stars shine overhead and the same laws of nature operate on the earth, but in mode of living, appearance, customs and habits of thought, the Chinese people could scarcely be more different from ours.

First, a word as to the land which they occupy; its very vastness impresses one, unless he has recently consulted his geography. While the eighteen provinces which constitute China proper have something less than two million square miles, yet the Chinese empire with its tributary states has an area of about five million three hundred thousand square miles, and extends over thirty degrees north and south and seventy degrees east and west. We hardly realize when we speak of China that her emperor holds sway over a territory nearly twice as large as the United States; that his decrees are law to a population estimated at from two hundred and fifty to four hundred millions; that her climate is like that of Russia in the north, while in the southern provinces her people live under a tropical sun; and that she has so many mountains and such mighty deserts that more than half of her population is crowded together upon a plain which contains but a little more than two hundred thousand square miles. Williams, in his work entitled "The Middle Kingdom," calls this district "the most densely settled of any part of the world of the same size," and estimates that upon this plain—less than three times the size of Nebraska—one hundred and seventy-seven millions of human beings dwell.

The harbors of China are hardly what one might expect on so extended a line of sea coast. While the harbor at Hong Kong is an admirable one—one of the best in the world—the one at Shanghai has no hills to protect it, the one at Chefoo is open to the storms and the one at Taku does not deserve to be called a harbor at all. In leaving Shanghai we went an hour and a half by launch in order to reach a steamer of only six thousand tons; at Chefoo a still smaller ship was delayed a day because the lighters could not unload it in the wind, and at Taku, the seaport of Tientsin and Pekin, we spent a day on the bar waiting for ten feet of water.

The capital of the empire has until recently been so difficult of access that comparatively few tourists have visited it. The large ocean steamers stop at Shanghai and Hong Kong only, making it necessary for one desiring to visit Pekin to take a smaller boat and risk indefinite delays on account of wind and tide.

Since the completion of the railroad from Hankow to Pekin it is possible to accomplish the journey from Shanghai to Pekin in less time, and, in addition, enjoy the advantage of a trip inland. When the projected road is completed from Hankow to Canton, the tourist can land at Shanghai, take a river boat six hundred miles up the Yangste Kiang to Hankow, then go by rail to Pekin, about eight hundred miles north, then back through Hankow to Canton nearly as far south, from which point there are daily boats to Hong Kong. This trip, covering nearly a thousand miles of river travel and about fifteen hundred miles of railroad travel (not including the return trip from Pekin to Hankow) can be made in the time formerly spent in travel along the coast and furnishes an infinitely better opportunity for the study of the country and the people. As a matter of precaution I ought to add that Pekin is so far north that before the opening of the railroad it was extremely difficult to visit it after the first of December, and even now it is desirable that the trip should be made before the middle of November.

China is well watered; the largest river, the Yantse Kiang, which empties into the ocean at Shanghai, is three thousand miles long, drains more than half a million square miles. Seven hundred miles above its mouth carries a volume of water estimated at five hundred thousand cubic feet per second. It is one of the great rivers of the earth and is navigable for large vessels for more than a thousand miles.

The Yellow river, or, in Chinese, the Hwang Ho, drains a basin almost as large and is nearly as long, but does not carry so large a volume of water. This is the river whose overflows have been so disastrous as to earn for it the name of "The Great Sorrow." This river carries down so much deposit that within recent times it has choked its original outlet and formed a new channel, entering the ocean some three hundred miles farther north. At that time thousands of villages were swept away and the loss of life was estimated at several millions. The current of the Yellow river is so shifting, the sandbars so numerous and the volume of water so changeable that the river is practically useless for navigation.

Besides these, there are a number of rivers of less importance and tributaries of these two large rivers, which only seem small by comparison.

As if inspired by the numerous and extensive natural waterways, the Chinese people centuries ago connected the great water systems by an immense canal, which with the streams utilized by it, gave water communication between Pekin and Canton. This canal, sometimes known as the Transit river, is nearly twice as long as the Erie canal and is not only the greatest work of its kind in Asia, but at the time of its construction was the greatest in the world.

Before speaking of the people, a word should be said in regard to the great wall. It extends from the ocean westward along the northern boundary of China proper for a distance of about fifteen hundred miles, climbing in its tortuous course hills and mountains, one more than five thousand feet high. It is about twenty-five feet thick at the base and fifteen at the top and varies from fifteen to thirty feet in height. It is made of earth with a shell of stone or large brick to hold the earth in place. The watch towers, built at intervals along the line, add to its imposing appearance and make it an object of historic interest, although a large part of the wall has fallen into decay and in some places only a ridge of dirt remains. This wall was constructed about two hundred years before the Christian era as a protection against the hostile tribes of the north, and for many centuries it answered its purpose, although to-day it only suggests a tremendous waste of labor.

But the great wall, imposing as it is because of its length, is inferior in height, thickness and construction to some of the city walls. The wall of the city of Pekin, for instance, is about sixty feet high and forty feet wide at its base, and is kept in excellent repair. The wall encloses what is known as the Tartar city and is nearly four miles square. Huge watch towers rise above each gate, and to give still greater security, the gates open into an enclosed square. While the walls of the city of Pekin are the most substantial in the empire, the walls of Nanking, the former capital, enclose nearly four times as much ground. There was a double object in making the walls of the city so extensive. First, to provide for future growth; and, second, to enable the people to withstand a longer siege. How well the second purpose was served is shown by the fact that during the Taiping rebellion the city of Nanking was besieged for thirteen years. Just outside the walls of the city may still be seen the earthworks thrown up by the imperial army, which sometimes numbered thirty-five thousand.

But it must not be understood that the capital cities were the only ones protected by walls. On the contrary, all the cities are walled; one sees fifteen or twenty of these walled cities on the railroad from Pekin to Hankow and a number of others on the ride down the river to Shanghai.

The agricultural population, instead of occupying individual farms, as in America, is gathered into little villages, each home being enclosed in its own wall. During the summer the people swarm out from the cities and villages and cultivate their little tracts of land with the most primitive tools, carrying the farm products back to their homes on wheelbarrows or in baskets balanced on poles. In the north of China the camel is used for long distance travel, and in the south we saw the water buffalo drawing the plow, but in China less than anywhere else we have been, has man supplemented his strength by the strength of domestic animals.

In the cities the streets are so narrow that travel by ordinary vehicles is impossible. In Pekin there are a few wide streets leading from the gates through the city, and on these a peculiar heavy-wheeled, springless cart is used, but most of the streets are more like alleys in which two 'rikishas can hardly pass. We did not see a full sized horse in the capital city. Some ponies have been brought down from Manchuria (Manchuria is regarded as the personal property of the imperial family and there is a royal monopoly in ponies) but the most popular saddle animal is the patient donkey. It looks ludicrous to see a fat Chinaman perched upon the rump of one of these tiny beasts, but there seems to be entire harmony between the two and the donkey trudges along with little thought of change.

In Canton the streets are not wide enough for the 'rikisha, and both the pony and the donkey are conspicuous by their absence. The sedan chair, borne by coolies, was the only conveyance we saw in a day's tour of the city, and it required some engineering to make any headway with it when two parties met.

Although the business buildings are seldom more than two stories high (the residences are usually only one story), the streets are so narrow and so filled with signs and advertising banners that the sun can scarcely find its way to the pavement. The stores are narrow little stalls with the entire front open to the street. Often there is a little shrine outside the door where incense is burned, and innumerable gods of wood, brass and stone are to be seen.

While in their style of dress and in their institutions the Chinese are much the same throughout the empire, they differ considerably in size and color according to the latitude, and in features according to race history. In the north the people are lighter and larger than in the south, while the men and women of Manchuria have coarser and stronger faces than the Chinese. The people in the north seem to be more vigorous and warlike and less artistic than the people of the south.

The shaved forehead and the queue were prescribed by the Manchurian rulers two hundred and fifty years ago as a sign of subjection, but they are now a source of pride, and no greater humiliation can be inflicted upon one than to cut off his queue. In the northern provinces the men, women and children wear padded clothes, generally of dark blue cotton. The breeches of the men are tied at the ankles and the long, narrow coat reaches almost to the feet. In China the women also wear trousers, but they are more like the American article and the coat worn by the women is considerably shorter than that worn by the men. China is a great place for furs, and the right to wear sable is conferred as a mark of distinction upon the higher officials.

The Manchu women and the Chinese women differ materially. The Manchus, whose ancestors came from Manchuria, still retain the customs peculiar to their section. The hair is stretched over a broad, winglike frame and three hours are required for its arrangement. Flowers, natural and artificial, and ornaments made of feathers, beads and tinsel are profusely used in hair decoration. The Manchu women, except the widows, employ paint and powder with a boldness which would put to shame the most inveterate user of cosmetics in America. In the painting here there is no suggestion of a delicate glow of health; it is a generous application of bright red in two streaks, running from above the eyes to the corners of the mouth. The rest of the face is whitened with rice powder, which does not harmonize with the yellow skin of the neck.

But if the Manchu women show more vanity in the treatment of the face, they at least do not imitate the Chinese women in the binding of the feet, though by wearing skirts and a shoe resting on a block, shaped like a French heel, the size of the foot is concealed.

Foot-binding is probably the strangest form that human pride has ever taken, and it is hard to believe that Chinese women from time immemorial have endured the agonies of foot-binding and forced it upon their daughters. It is not known certainly how the custom originated. One tradition is that it began with a club-footed queen; another that it was designed to distinguish the upper class women from the coolies; and a third tradition has it that it was a scheme devised by the men for keeping the women at home. But whatever causes may have led to the inauguration of the custom, it has become so firmly established that a prominent Chinaman told me that being opposed to foot-binding, he had, when a young man, tried to find a wife with natural feet but was not able to do so. He has in recent years persuaded his wife to unbind her feet and has kept his daughters from undergoing the ordeal.

The process, as described by a physician and as shown in a photograph and model which I secured, is as follows: At the age of five or six the little girl's feet are tightly bandaged; the second, third, fourth and fifth toes being gradually brought back under the sole of the foot; the heel is then drawn forward under the instep and the natural growth of the foot entirely arrested. The medical missionaries report instances in which the foot has rotted away because of lack of circulation. On one of the boats we met an intelligent Chinese merchant who, after condemning the practice of foot-binding and telling us that, in opposition to his wife's wishes and in opposition to the girl herself, he had saved one daughter from foot-binding, compared this custom to that of lacing, affirming that the latter was much more injurious. He also ventured to suggest that Chinese women do not expose their health and their shoulders in decollete gowns, but perceiving that he had discovered a weak spot in our own social armor, I hurriedly changed the subject. But I must reserve for another article the discussion of other characteristics.

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In the first article on China, reference was made to some of the characteristics of the Chinese, but the subject was not exhausted—in fact, it would require several articles to exhaust this subject, and attention can only be given to those traits or customs which are in most violent contrast with our own.

Chinese society is patriarchal in its organization, the family being the unit and the father the head of the family. The Chinese sages present filial piety and fraternal submission as the root of all benevolent action. The children are subject to the parents as long as the parents live, and the younger sons are subject to the eldest. The four relations which are continually discussed by the philosophers are: First, the relation between the king and his ministers; second, between the father and his sons; third, between the elder brother and the younger brothers; fourth, between the individual and his fellows, but the fourth relation receives the least consideration.

Marriages are arranged by the parents, and the children must be content with the selection made. When the wife is taken to the home of the husband, she becomes a member of his family and subject to her mother-in-law, if the husband's mother is still alive. As other sons are married their wives are brought in and they are expected to live peaceably together—an expectation which is not always fully realized. As law and custom permit the system of concubinage, it is not strange that the home is often the scene of contention rather than the center of felicity.

As the duty of sacrificing to ancestors falls upon the son, the advent of a boy is the signal for rejoicing, while the birth of a girl is not considered a good omen. So unpopular was the female baby that in some provinces many of them were formerly put to death, but child-murder is now on the decrease.

No one can visit China without becoming acquainted with a peculiarly oriental phrase called "losing face." One of the first newspapers that I picked up in China described the attempted suicide of a man who complained that he had "lost his face" because a magistrate refused to commence a prosecution on his complaint. In China there is a constant effort to keep up appearances, and when this is no longer possible, the unfortunate one feels that he can not look anyone else in the face. Chinese life is saturated with this "face" doctrine; it percolates through their disputes and oozes out through the pores of their diplomacy. Justice is of less importance in the deciding of a controversy than the saving of the parties from the loss of "face." There are in each community "peace-talkers" who make a business of so adjusting disputes that neither party will seem to be in the wrong.

In dealing with China this national characteristic must be borne in mind, and it is to be regretted that foreign nations have in their negotiations sometimes imitated China instead of setting her a better example. One constantly meets over here with the theory that the foreigner must conform to the methods of the Orient, but this is always advanced as an excuse for following a bad custom. It is impossible to convince China that our ideal is a better one than hers unless that ideal is embodied in action. When our country admitted that the indemnity collected from Japan after the Shimonoseki affair was excessive, and returned it, she made a deep impression upon the Japanese. It was several times referred to by speakers during our recent visit to Japan as an evidence of our country's desire to do justice to other nations. It was just as honorable for a nation to acknowledge an error as it is for an individual to do so, and our nation has an opportunity to admit another excessive demand and return to China a part of the indemnity collected at the close of the Boxer trouble.

No nation has ever given more emphasis to ceremony than does China. Confucius places propriety among the cardinal virtues, and the doctrine has been elaborated until the whole life is fettered by formality. Each rising generation is drilled in the performance of certain rites required by approved etiquette, and it would be humiliating for one to have to confess that he did not know the proper thing to do and the proper way to do it. Even sincerity is considered much less important, and both Confucius and Mencius set demoralizing examples in placing the latter above the former. In the Analects, an instance is given where one, Joo Pei, wished to see Confucius, but the latter refused to see him "on the ground of being sick." When the bearer of the message had left, Confucius "took his harpsicord, and sang to it, in order that Pei might hear him." It is related of Mencius that he was about to go to court to see the king when he received a message from the king saying that the latter "was wishing to call on Mencius but was detained by a cold." Mencius replied, "Unfortunately, I am unwell and unable to go to court," but the next day he went out and paid a visit of condolence to another family. While he was absent from the house the king's messenger called with a physician, whereupon the representative of Mencius explained that he was sick the day before, but that being a little better he had hastened to court. It was then necessary to send out several men to intercept Mencius and get him to the king's house. All of this subterfuge was resorted to in order to get the king to call upon Mencius first.

The kowtow is still a part of the ceremonial greeting. If two officials are riding and meet, they dismount and bow their heads to the ground. In the schools the students kowtow before a Confucian tablet twice each month. When we visited the government school at Shanghai we noticed mats upon the floor of the otherwise empty assembly hall, and upon inquiry learned that at seven the next morning the students would perform the usual Confucian rites. These consist of a series of kowtows. At a given signal the students kneel on the mats and bow three times toward the tablet, their heads each time touching the floor; they then rise and after a short interval kneel again at a signal and bow three times more. This ceremony is again repeated, making nine bows in all. Then they kneel and bow three times to the professors; after saluting the professors each student bows once to the student next to him and the meeting adjourns. We thought it would be interesting to witness this service in honor of one who has received more formal reverence than any other mortal, and arising before it was light, we made the journey to the college, which is distant an hour's ride from the hotel. When we arrived we found that for some reason which we could not ascertain, the ceremony would not be performed. Whether the postponement was due to objection to the presence of foreigners (visitors had been present on former occasions) or to some other cause, was left in mystery.

Our morning ride, however, answered one purpose; as the road ran some distance by the side of a little stream, it enabled us to see something of houseboat life. Hundreds of little boats line the stream, and in their diminutive mat-covered cabins were housed thousands of natives, many of whom are born, live and die in these unstable homes. As they were preparing the morning meal we had a chance to confirm the stories regarding their want of cleanliness. It was not an uncommon thing to see a woman washing rice in the muddy water and a few feet away, another woman throwing refuse matter into the stream, or a man performing his morning ablutions. At Canton one has a still larger opportunity to observe houseboat life where the Pearl river furnishes the water supply and at the same time an open sewer for a floating population of many thousands.

The contrast between the bath-loving Japanese and the dirty, complacent Chinese laborer is very marked and this contrast is also noticeable in the streets. The sights and smells that greet the senses along the narrow streets of a native city are not soon forgotten by one who travels through China, and one's ideas of modesty, too, are sadly wrenched.

But whatever may be said of the habits of the lower class Chinese, they are an industrious and patient people. After watching them work and observing the conditions under which they live, one can scarcely begrudge them whatever comfort they can find in the dreams of Heaven which they draw from their opium pipes. And speaking of opium, one is restrained from speaking too harshly of the habit by a recollection of the fact that the opium trade was forced upon the "Heathen Chinee" by a great Christian nation.

The Chinese have their amusements, one of which is the theatre. We attended one theatre in Pekin and found the room crowded with men. It was a commodious hall with a gallery, but the stage was not relatively so large as in Japan. The acting reminded us more of the American stage than did the Japanese, but the scenery was exceedingly scanty. The audience expressed itself in approval or disapproval with a good deal of freedom.

We found a sport in China which we have not heard of elsewhere, viz., quail fighting. These little birds are matched against each other as fighting cocks are in the Spanish countries. One American told us of a fight between cockroaches. These combats, as well as those between the quails, give an opportunity for betting—a vice which prevails in the Orient as well as in the Occident.

The Chinese have a bird contest which involves neither cruelty nor bloodshed, although the element of gambling is also present in it. I refer to the singing matches between larks. The Chinese are very fond of birds and one cannot go upon the street without seeing men carrying bird cages. The birds are aired much as pet dogs are exercised in our country. The favorite singing bird is the lark, and these are entered by their owners in contests, considerable sums often being placed upon a bird. The award is made by the birds themselves, one after another confessing defeat until but one songster is left upon his perch. The winner is quite exultant, while the others show as much humiliation as a Chinaman who has "lost his face." The defeated birds will not sing again for months.

In another article I have referred to the superstitions so widespread in China. There is one form of superstition which has interfered with both religion and commerce. The natives have for centuries been the victims of sorcerers and fortune tellers who, professing a knowledge of terrestrial and celestial forces, style themselves "Fungshui" doctors and make a living by selecting lucky burial sites, foretelling the future, etc. There are certain spirits which are supposed to preside over certain places, and any change in the conformation of the ground is thought to anger the spirits. A railroad cut or fill is sometimes objected to for this reason, and a church spire is, in the opinion of the superstitious, liable to endanger the peace and safety of a community. However, commerce is extending in spite of the "spirits" and the Christian religion is gradually making headway against superstition.

At Pekin I attended a morning service at the Methodist church where some six hundred Chinese men and women listened to a sermon in their own language delivered by an American missionary. On Thanksgiving day we ate dinner at the Presbyterian Mission, and during our travels through China met a number of ministers, physicians and teachers. They all testified to the stimulus given to the spread of religion by the fidelity shown by the Chinese Christians during the Boxer troubles. At Nanking we visited a school conducted by the Disciples or Christian Church, and at Shanghai, a school supported by the Episcopalian Church of America. There is also at Shanghai a college, the main purpose of which is to bring the white and yellow races into closer harmony. Prof. Isaac T. Headland of the Methodist University at Pekin has published a volume entitled "Chinese Heroes," in which he gives a number of instances of consecrated devotion on the part of the Chinese to the Christian faith, and why should not China be a promising mission field? Buddhism has here done its perfect work and can not reasonably ask for a further trial; the philosophy of the sages has also been shown impotent for the harmonious development of the three-fold man. China has followed an ideal and followed it with a diligence rarely exhibited, but that ideal has been weighed in the balance and found wanting. It is often said in defense of Confucianism that its founder gave to his disciples the golden rule, stated in its negative form, but too little emphasis has been given to the difference between the doctrine of Confucius, "Do not unto others as you would not have others do unto you," and, the doctrine of the Nazarene, "Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." There is a world of difference between negative harmlessness and positive helpfulness, and Christianity could well afford to rest its case against Confucianism on the comparison of these two doctrines.

In the Analects of Confucius the philosopher is asked, "Is there one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all one's life?" He was answered, "Is not reciprocity such a word?" Here we have the doctrine of selfishness as plausibly presented as it will ever be again. Life is described as a balancing of favors—a nice calculation of good done and good received. There is no suggestion here of a heart overflowing with love, no intimation of a blessedness to be found in giving.

At another time someone asked Confucius, "What do you say concerning the principle that injury should be recompensed with kindness?" He replied, "With what then will you recompense kindness? Recompense injury with justice and recompense kindness with kindness." In reply to another question, he goes so far as to charge that one "who returns good for evil, is a man that is careful of his person." How different these precepts are from those of the Sermon on the Mount! Christians are accused of failure to live up to the high ideal presented by Jesus, and the accusation is just, and yet, although the Christian nations fall far short of the measure which they themselves recognize, although professing Christians reflect but imperfectly the rays which fall upon them from the Sun of Righteousness, they are leading the world in all that is ennobling and uplifting, and China gives silent recognition to the superiority of the western ideal in every reform which she undertakes.

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Chinese education has been very much overestimated. The literati have boasted of the antiquity of the government and educational system, the invention of the compass, the printing press and of gunpowder, and the western world has been inclined to concede their claims, but these claims will not bear investigation. The government is ancient, but it is also antiquated. The emperor exercises a power as unlimited as that of the czar and is as inaccessible to his subjects. The ruling family seized the throne two and a half centuries ago and has retained power because the people have learned to submit to almost anything. The laws have not only been arbitrary, but they have been cruel; the officials have not only been appointed without consulting the governed, but they have been shamelessly corrupt.

When Confucius and Mencius taught, they complained of the degeneracy of the government, and in more than twenty centuries that have elapsed since those days, there has been no marked improvement. Of course there have been pure and patriotic men in high places occasionally, but the government showed neither perfection then nor improvement afterwards—until within the last few years.

What if the compass was known to the Chinese before it was to Europe? They made little use of it compared with the use to which it was put by the Portuguese, the Spaniards, the Dutch and other Europeans.

They invented gunpowder, and yet they equipped their soldiers with bows and arrows down to the present generation.

They invented the printing press, and yet until recently they had scarcely any newspapers and but few books. I shall speak in another article of the improvement in this direction, but as an evidence of the little use made of the printing press even now, I record the fact that in a four days' ride (at present the train runs only in the daytime) from the capital of the empire to Hankow, through a densely populated section, we did not see a man reading a paper or hear the voice of a newsboy.

Equally without justification is the boast of great learning among the people. They have had no educational system and their children have had to rely upon private schools, a few families getting together and hiring a teacher. Even then the main purpose of their higher education was to obtain a government position. As only a very limited number could possibly be selected at the competitive examinations held by the government, there was small incentive to study and the written language, with two hundred and fourteen radicals and twelve hundred different characters, was enough to discourage even the ambitious. A Chinese official informed me that not more than one man in a hundred could write a letter and that not more than one in ten could understand a letter when read to him.

The object of the schools, such as they had, was to cultivate the memory and to teach the pupils to write essays expounding the doctrines of the Chinese sages. All of the schools used the same text book, the primer in universal use having been prepared over eight hundred years ago. Education was limited in the number who received it and limited in the amount provided, and the course of instruction was fossilized. None of the students were taught anything about the outside world and but few of the people were students. It is sufficient evidence of the absolute failure of their educational system to compare this great empire, containing approximately one-fourth of the population of the globe, with even the smaller states of Europe in the production of scientists, scholars and poets. China has had diplomats and astute statesmen, but these have been developed in the school of experience rather than in halls of learning. Considering the educational opportunities furnished, it is astonishing that she has produced any great men at all.

China has her religions and they have doubtless exerted a moulding influence upon the people, but the influence has not been an unmixed good. Take, for instance, ancestor worship; it contains a germ of good, in that it teaches respect and care for parents, but the spirit has been lost in the observance of the letter until the welfare of the living is neglected, that senseless sacrifices may be made to the dead. At Canton we visited a place called "The Place of the Dead." It is connected with a Buddhist temple and is just outside the city wall. There are some four hundred rooms in the group of buildings and nearly every room contains a coffin. Here the well-to-do deposit the body of an ancestor and keep incense burning as long as they can afford to pay for it. Rent must be paid for the rooms; the light must be kept bright; food and drink must be offered to the departed each day and the incense must be paid for. As someone has remarked, it costs more to care for a dead ancestor than a live one. We saw one coffin that had cost three thousand dollars; it had been in the building for sixteen years and had been moved from one apartment to another, a cheaper one being chosen each time as the resources of the family declined. In some cases the families have become so poor that they can neither pay rent nor buy a burying plot.

There is also at Canton an ancestral hall where for a specified sum the name of an ancestor may be inscribed on a little wooden tablet; incense is also burned here, too. Foreign residents relate instances where servants have spent three years' income in burying a parent, the money being borrowed and gradually repaid from the earnings. Besides the first cost of burial, there must be frequent pilgrimages to the grave. It is within the bounds of truth to say that the money expended in elaborate funerals, in sacrifices to the dead, and in periodical pilgrimages to tombs would have gone far toward educating and enlightening each rising generation—and who will say that respect for the dead can better be shown by formal ceremonies than by a proper regard for the welfare of the descendants?

The tombs of the royal family are always objects of interest to the tourist. The most famous of these tombs are north of Pekin and so near to the great wall that they are usually visited at the same time, three or four days being required for the trip. There are other tombs of less renown still nearer to Pekin, while the tomb of the first emperor of the Ming dynasty is just outside the walls of Nanking. Some of these tombs are mere masses of masonry now, but all were once richly carved. The avenues leading up to these tombs are lined with large stone figures of men and animals. These are arranged in pairs, one on each side of the road—two huge warriors, two priests, two elephants standing, two elephants kneeling, two camels standing and two kneeling, two horses standing and two kneeling, and lions, bears and other animals in like positions. These figures are put near the tomb that the ruler may be supplied with the things needful for his happiness in the spirit world. And, speaking of tombs, the worship of ancestors is destined to make China a vast graveyard, if, as now, graves cannot be disturbed. It will be remembered that the Chinese government cautioned the Russians and Japanese not to trespass upon the graveyards at Mukden, where a number of Manchu emperors are buried. The graves of the masses are as securely regarded, although distinguished merely by a mound. In the neighborhood of the large cities the cemeteries cover many square miles, and as they are constantly added to and never diminished, they occupy an ever increasing area. In the agricultural districts the burying grounds are scattered through the fields, each family having its own plot. Sometimes when the family has died out, the mound is neglected and the coffin is exposed. At Shanghai and at Nanking we saw a number of coffins in the fields which had never been covered.

The temples of China are interesting, but are generally in a state of decay. The Confucian temple at Pekin is visited once a year when sacrifices are made to China's supreme sage. The court of the temple is filled with gnarled and knotted cedars of great age, in which a colony of crows was chanting a requiem when we were there. There are also in the court numerous tablets of marble, each resting on the back of a stone turtle and bearing inscriptions; there are other tablets bearing quotations from the writings of Confucius.

At Canton our guide took us to the temple of the five hundred gods. They represent Buddhistic saints, are life size and each has an incense urn before him. One of the gods has a very long arm, he being the one who puts the moon up at nights; another represents a saint who cut open his breast and exposed an image of Buddha to prove his fidelity to the faith.

(Our guide at Canton was Ah Cum, who had conducted travelers through the city for more than forty years and has brought up his sons to the same profession. I mention his name for the benefit of any readers of these lines who may chance to visit, as every tourist should, this most Chinese of Chinese cities.)

There is in the vicinity of Pekin a temple with several thousand images of Buddha, but they are small and made of clay, the original bronze images having been carried away by the foreign troops during the Boxer troubles.

Close to the walls of the city of Pekin stands what is called the Yellow Temple, a rare work of art. The figures representing incidents in the life of Buddha are very skillfully carved and one can not help feeling indignation at the vandalism of the foreign soldiers who, during the Boxer troubles, defaced this ancient monument. By far the most impressive and elaborate religious structure in China is the "Altar of Heaven," not far from the city of Pekin. It was built under the Ming dynasty five hundred years ago and is still visited twice each year by the emperor, who here offers sacrifices to heaven. The sacrificial altar is built entirely of white marble. It is a triple circular terrace, the base being a little more than two hundred feet in diameter, the middle terrace one hundred and fifty feet and the top terrace nearly a hundred feet, each terrace being enclosed by a beautifully carved balustrade. It stands about eighteen feet high, and the emperor ascending to it alone, kneels at midnight and, as the representative of the whole people, makes his offering to heaven. A bullock without a blemish is used as the offering on these occasions. In architecture the altar reminds one of the Greek structures, while some of the features of the ceremony recall the rites of the Israelites as described in the Old Testament.

Near to this altar is a pagoda, standing upon another triple, but smaller, marble terrace; it is popularly known as the "Temple of Heaven." Here on the first day of the Chinese year the emperor offers his supplications to heaven for a blessing upon the year. This is the most graceful and symmetrical pagoda in the empire, if not in the Orient, and no one who visits the capital should fail to see it. Both the altar and the temple are surrounded by a high wall, and the enclosed court is shaded by veteran cedars.

While Buddhism has been regarded as the religion of China, Taoism has also influenced the thought of the nation. It teaches the existence of spirits but has degenerated into superstition and the attempted conciliation of evil spirits. For instance, before each official residence and before many private residences will be found a wall, higher and wider than the front door, the purpose of which is to keep out the evil spirits, which are supposed to travel only in a straight line. When a building is to be made more than two stories high, bunches of leaves are often tied to the top of the poles used for scaffolding: this is done to deceive the evil spirits and make them believe that it is a forest instead of a building, they being supposed to be hostile to high buildings. After the roof is on, however, the building is safe, but the ridge pole must curve up at the ends to keep the spirits from descending. Boys are very much at a premium in China, because the duty of guarding the graves devolves upon the oldest son. If a man loses a boy or two, he sometimes dresses the next boy like a girl in order to deceive the spirits, for a girl is, or at least used to be, beneath the notice of even evil spirits. A very intelligent Chinaman explained the disinclination of the ordinary Chinaman to rescue a drowning man on the ground that if the evil spirits were trying to drown the man, they would resent and punish any attempt to save him.

But more potent than either Buddhism or Taoism has been the influence of Confucius and his commentators. This great philosopher was born 551 B. C., and Mencius, his greatest disciple, nearly two hundred years later. The moral principles discussed by them were not presented as original conceptions but rather urged as the principles of previous emperors whose lives were regarded as ideal. In another article, in the discussion of China's awakening, I shall speak of the ethical teachings of Confucius, but it is worth while to note at this time that his utterances with regard to government fall far short of the generally accepted doctrines of to-day. While he insisted that rulers owed certain duties to their subjects, and were good or bad in proportion as they set an example of virtue and governed wisely, he did not intimate that the people have either the right to, or the capacity for, self-government. His doctrines support the idea that classes are necessary, the "superior" people governing and teaching, the rest doing the manual labor.

Confucius taught that those who were not in office need not concern themselves about the administration of the government—a doctrine which paralyzed the patriotism of the masses and invited abuses on the part of the officials.

The system by which officials were chosen was also calculated to breed selfishness and indifference to the public weal, as well as to impede progress. The course of instruction, as before stated, contemplated merely the memorizing of the Chinese classics composed of the sayings of the sages, poetry and Chinese history.

The aspirants for honors were not required to think for themselves, to understand the problems of their generation or to know anything of the science of government. To compose a good essay upon what Confucius said, upon what Mencius thought, or upon what Shun or Wan or Woo did was sufficient. This naturally chained each generation to the past and locked the door to advancement.

The successful candidate felt that his appointment was due to his own merit and that he was under no obligation to anyone except the members of his family who had furnished the money necessary to enable him to take the various examinations. Neither the securing of the office nor the retaining of it rested upon his ability to devise wise policies or upon his interest in the people at large. The emperor with unlimited power was above him, and the people with unlimited patience were below him.

In later years the examinations have sometimes become a farce, and rank has been offered to the highest bidder, bidding being encouraged by an intimation that this might be the last chance. But even when honestly conducted, the civil service system of China was not calculated to develop the official or to secure a good, wise and progressive government.

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In what I have said of the Chinese government, system of education, religion and superstitions, I have referred to the nation as it has been for some twenty centuries—chained to tradition, stagnant, asleep. Society was stratified; those in power seemed to have no higher aspiration than to live upon the labor of the masses, and the masses seemed to entertain no thought of emancipation. The life of the people was occupied with ceremony, but there was no genuine fellowship or sympathetic connection between them, outside of the family tie, and even the family was likely to be a storm center because of the conflicting interests collected under one roof. Education was monopolized by a comparatively few, and there was no breadth to such instruction as was given. Superstition took the place of religion and the placating of the spirits of the deceased outweighed the nurture and development of those still on earth.

But a change is taking place in China such as has revolutionized Japan within the last half century. The sleeping giantess, whose drowsy eyes have so long been shut to the rays of the morning sun, is showing unmistakable signs of an awakening. There was a vitality among her people which even two thousand years of political apathy could not exhaust—a sturdiness which centuries of poverty and superstition could not entirely destroy. Increasing contact with Europe and America is having its influence, and the example of Japan is even more potent, for the people of Japan are not only neighbors, but are more like them in color and race characteristics. Let me note some of the evidences of this change.

The government, so long an absolute despotism, is about to become a constitutional monarchy. In 1898 the emperor, under the influence of some radical reformers, prepared a program almost revolutionary in its character. Recognizing that his aunt, the dowager empress, would oppose him, he prepared to put her under guard while the change was being made, but the old lady, learning of his plan, promptly took him in hand and made him a prisoner in his own palace. Since that time she has been the unquestioned ruler of the empire, the nominal emperor affixing his signature to the papers which she prepares. But so rapidly has the situation developed that she is now instituting the very reforms for the suggestion of which she so recently imprisoned her nephew. A commission of prominent officials is now abroad, some in Europe, some in America, studying the constitutions and governmental institutions of other countries. What a concession, when we remember the self-sufficiency of China, the characterization of surrounding nations as "rude tribes" and the use of the term "barbarians" to designate even those with whom she made treaties!

It is reported that the dowager-empress recently called her councilors together and asked how long it would take to establish a constitutional government. When told that it would probably require twelve or fifteen years, she replied that it must be done sooner than that as she could not hope to live much longer, and wanted it in operation before she died. Whether she appreciates the full importance of the change may be doubted, but the fact that the great nations, with the exception of Russia, have constitutions, has doubtless made its impression upon her; and Russia's defeat at the hands of the Japanese, coupled with present internal disturbances in the czar's domain, contains its lesson.

As early as 1901, a commission was appointed to examine and report on all proposed measures affecting the organization and administration of the government, and in 1904 a general assembly of the ministers of the principal boards was provided for. While these newly created bodies have no legislative power, they indicate the trend toward a more popular government. The constitution, when adopted, as it ultimately will be, will inaugurate a parliamentary system. There is, therefore, a distinct advance along governmental lines, and this in itself means much for China and for the outside world.

The criminal code is also being revised. The Hon. Wu Ting Fang, former minister to the United States and now vice-president of the board of foreign affairs, has been made a member of the board of punishments. He and Shen Chia Pen, the vice-president of the board of punishments, have by imperial decree been intrusted with the revision and codifying of the laws of China. They have established a bureau with a staff of secretaries and translators and have spent two years in the examination of the civil and criminal codes of the different countries in order to select laws which are applicable to the conditions existing in China. Ex-Minister Wu has taken a deep interest in this subject and kindly furnished me with the following list of reforms to which the imperial sanction has been secured:

1. Ling Chi, slow death by slicing to pieces, has been abolished. It was the punishment formerly prescribed for one found guilty of paricide, high treason, wilful murder of husband (the murder of husband by wife was according to Chinese law a much graver offense than the murder of wife by husband).

2. The heads of criminals were formerly exposed to the public after execution. This has also been abolished.

3. The beheading of a corpse of a criminal who died before execution is no longer permitted.

4. According to the old law, parents, relatives and friends of one convicted of serious crimes were subject to punishment; now the punishment is confined to the guilty party. (While the practice of including innocent relatives in the sentence seems barbarous in the extreme, it was, after all, not so different in principle from the practice of the western nations which in times of war inflict punishment indiscriminately upon innocent and guilty alike.)

5. The branding of criminals has been abandoned.

6. Corporal punishment of criminals is also abolished.

7. The torturing of accused persons during trial, except where the accused is charged with murder, and where the evidence of guilt is clear, has also been abolished. According to the Chinese law a person convicted of murder cannot be put to death until he confesses, and torture has been retained in a case of this kind as a means of compelling confession when the guilt has been otherwise established, but Mr. Wu expresses the hope that torture in such cases will be abolished in the near future.

The revision commission has also succeeded in obtaining an imperial decree ordering the construction of more modern prisons, requiring the inspection of prisoners and compelling humane treatment. Formerly relief from cruel treatment could only be secured by paying the official in charge.

The commission is now working upon a code of procedure and intends among other things the recommendation of a system of trial by jury, the admission of lawyers to practice in the courts and the relieving of prisoners and witnesses from the humiliating practice of kneeling in court.

In order to secure competent judges and lawyers for the carrying out of the new code, the commission has obtained the sanction of the government for the establishment of a law school at Pekin (the site has already been purchased), and the high schools and colleges of the various provinces have been instructed to add law to the curriculum of their studies.

Minister Wu called attention to other reforms which have been introduced into China within the last few years, among which may be mentioned the construction of railways, the establishment of a government board of commerce, the formation of a police force, municipal and provincial, the promulgation of incorporation laws and the establishment of mints.

At first the railroads were built by concessions issued to foreign companies, but because of the constant difficulties which grew out of such concessions, there is a growing sentiment in favor of government railroads. It was in the pursuance of this policy that the government acquired the rights of the American company which was projecting a road from Hankow to Canton. Some of the Americans residing in China have expressed regret that this road should have passed out of American hands, but I am satisfied that it is better for the United States that China should own the road than that it should be in the hands of foreigners or even in the hands of Americans. It would be impossible to operate the road without more or less friction, which would involve the countries in diplomatic controversies. If China operates the road herself, we will have equal rights with foreigners without the risks involved in private ownership. And, speaking of roads, the city of Pekin is passing through an era of street improvement. Some eleven miles of pavement have been laid within three years, and concrete sidewalks are making their appearance.

The finances of China have been in a miserable condition. Cash is the money in common use, and these brass coins, running about one thousand to the dollar, are too heavy for any excepting the smallest transactions. Think of doing business with money so heavy that you must carry a hundred pounds of money to make a ten dollar purchase. Some complained of silver in the United States because of its weight, but the silver certificates completely answered this argument, for a silver certificate is as convenient as a gold certificate and more convenient than gold coin; but in China paper money is not used among the masses. The monetary unit is called a tael and, if coined, would weigh about one and one-third times the Mexican dollar, but no coins of this denomination are in circulation. The Mexican dollar is in common use, and in some of the provinces there are fractional silver coins. But the Mexican dollar is so often counterfeited that it is customary to test each coin as it passes from hand to hand. I secured one of the "three piece dollars," as they are called. These are made by sawing a thin disc from each side of the dollar; the silver is then removed from the center and the cavity filled with lead and the two faces soldered on. The work is done so skillfully that the counterfeit can only be detected by the ring. Several of the banks issue paper notes payable in Mexican dollars, but they are discounted in the various cities so that a traveler's currency is always undergoing a shave. The government has decided to establish a uniform system of currency consisting of gold, silver and copper, the silver tael to remain the unit.

Patent laws and trade mark laws are now being prepared; in fact, China is being quickened in many ways by the increasing knowledge which she is acquiring. They are even considering a change in the alphabet and characters in order that the language may be more easily learned.

I have already referred to the fact that China has until recently been practically without newspapers. There is no better evidence of the progress which China is making than is to be found in the increase in the number of her newspapers. While the circulation of these papers is small as compared with the circulation of similar papers in the United States and Japan, still the growth is constant and the colloquial dialect sometimes employed brings the news and editorial pages within the comprehension of those who cannot read books. Many of these newspapers are published in the interest of reforms. One of the papers started at Hong Kong opposed the examination system by which civil officials were selected, the foot-binding custom and the habit of wearing the queue. The editor cut off his own queue as an example and is now encouraged by the fact that the soldiers are gradually adopting a like course. He is able to note progress in the matter of foot-binding. An imperial edict has been issued exhorting the people to abandon the practice, and numerous societies are engaged in spreading literature upon this subject.

But more important still is the recent abolition of the examinations. This is a revolution which has shaken the ancient empire to its foundation, for the examination system not only affected the government but moulded the educational system as well. In the larger cities elaborate provisions were made for these examinations, in some places from ten to fifteen thousand stalls being constructed. These stalls are about three feet by six deep, and high enough to permit the student to stand erect. The only furniture was a board for a seat and another for a desk. At a given hour the students entered these stalls and were given their themes; they were then kept in their stalls without communication until their tasks were finished. Now the stalls stand idle and the officials are chosen from the graduates of the newly established schools.

We visited the examination stalls at Pekin and found them in ruins. They had been occupied by the Boxers in 1900, who tore out the rafters and used them for fuel. After the roofs fell in the unprotected walls rapidly crumbled.

The conservatives have been very much incensed by the abandonment of the examinations, but the reformers regard it as a long step in the right direction.

On every hand one sees signs of intellectual development. As stated in another article, the private school was for centuries the only source from which instruction in books could be gained. Now a complete system of schools is being established, consisting of primary, middle and high schools, with colleges in the larger cities. Viceroy Yuan Shih Kai, who presides over the district in which Pekin is situated, and whom, through the courtesy of Minister Rockhill, I had an opportunity to meet, informed me that he had established four thousand schools within his jurisdiction within the past five years. The viceroy is the successor of Li Hung Chang and is considered the most influential man in the empire. He is about forty-six years old and impresses one as a man of great mental ability and alertness. He seems to take a deep interest in the reforms now being worked out, and is cordial in his treatment of Americans.

Consul General Rodgers, of Shanghai, happened to be in Nanking during our visit there, and we paid our respects to Viceroy Chou Fu. This viceroy is quite old and feeble but he is grappling with the new problems and is a patron of education. He has established one thousand schools during the last few years, and estimated the number of Chinese students in Japan at this time at five thousand.

At Shanghai there is a government university, the buildings of which cost two hundred and ten thousand dollars. We learned that in some places Buddhist temples are being converted into schools and that girls' schools are already being provided for. This is even a greater evidence of progress than the opening of schools for boys, because of the inferior position which woman has occupied in the celestial empire.

Besides the government schools there are numerous missionary schools in which instruction is given to both boys and girls. We visited some of these schools at Pekin, Nanking and Shanghai, and found the instructors encouraged by the attendance and the interest taken. A number of Americans, and a still larger number of Japanese, are teaching in the government schools.

But enough has been said to indicate the regeneration through which the Flowery Kingdom is passing. What will be the effect of the change upon the world? Who is wise enough to peer into the future and outline the record of the next century? Japan furnishes the nearest parallel. Compare the Japan of fifty years ago with the Japan of to-day and some conception can be formed of China fifty years hence. As Japan's commerce increased, so is China's commerce increasing; as Japan sent statesmen abroad to investigate the methods of other governments, so China is now sending inquirers abroad; as Japan turned her attention to schools and colleges, so China is learning the advantage of universal education; as Japanese students journeyed into distant lands in search of knowledge, so Chinese students are in increasing numbers studying in foreign colleges. Even in the enlargement and training of her army she is patterning after Japan and employing Japanese drill masters.

It need not be thought strange that there is an anti-foreign sentiment in China. Was there not an anti-foreign sentiment in Japan forty years ago? The Shimonoseki affair was not unlike the Boxer trouble, except that it was less fatal to life, but it exerted a large influence in the overthrow of the shogun and in the restoration of the emperor. Just as in Japan the old finally gave way to the new, and progress took the place of stagnation, so in China the old must give way to the new.

Advance is inevitable and the world need not fear the result. If China were strong enough to give effect to the hostility which some of her people now feel, she might be a menace to the peace of the world, but she cannot grow in strength faster than she grows in knowledge, and as she grows in knowledge she will learn, as other nations have learned, that nations help rather than injure each other by the material, intellectual and moral development of their people.

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If every American could visit China, the question of Chinese immigration would soon be settled upon a permanent basis, for no one can become acquainted with the Chinese coolie without recognizing the impossibility of opening the doors of our country to him without injustice to our own laboring men, demoralization to our social ideas, injury to China's reputation among us and danger to our diplomatic relations with that country.

I made it a point to inquire among the Chinese whom I met, in order to ascertain the real sentiment back of the boycott. I had heard of students being subjected to harsh regulations at ports of entry, of travelers humiliated by confinement in uncomfortable sheds and of merchants treated rudely, and I supposed that these things had aroused the resentment. I found, however, that the things complained of were more difficult to deal with and the concessions demanded impossible to grant.

In order to understand the boycott one must know something of Chinese history. As China has never had representative government, the people have been compelled to bring their complaints before officials by petition, and where the petition has been ignored, they have been accustomed to bring such pressure to bear as was within their power, and the boycott has often been resorted to as a means of compelling action upon the part of officials. They, therefore, conceived the idea of a boycott against American goods for the double purpose of urging their own government to favorable action and of calling the attention of the American government to their complaint. Our officials are doing what they can to convince the Chinese government of the injustice and folly of the boycott, and the Chinese officials with whom I conversed seemed anxious to co-operate with our minister and consuls. Immediate action upon the part of our congress, whether favorable or unfavorable to the Chinese, will remove the excuse for a boycott and our government should not be influenced in its action by any threats affecting trade, for the subject is too grave a one to be determined by commercial considerations.

The Americans who are doing business in China are naturally anxious to cultivate friendly relations with the Chinese merchants, and just before we reached Hong Kong the American business men residing there cabled home a statement of the minimum changes in the exclusion act asked for by the Chinese merchants. I had the privilege of attending a dinner at which a number of the leading Chinese merchants of Hong Kong presented their views, and it may be worth while to give here an abstract of their demands as drawn out by cross-examination.

They desire—First, that the word laborer shall be clearly and distinctly defined, "according to the highest standard English and be limited to such class or classes of persons as originally intended to be designated by both governments."

Second, that all regulations and legislative measures affecting Chinese immigration shall be communicated to and approved by the Chinese government before going into force, and that when in force, they should not be altered without consent of the Chinese government.

Third, that American consuls stationed in China shall have full power to grant certificates of admission to persons not included in the prohibited classes, such certificates to be conclusive except in cases of actual fraud.

Fourth, that the American consul in China shall without delay issue certificates of admission to such Chinese not included in the prohibited classes as shall obtain passports from the Chinese government.

Fifth, that the Chinese government shall be permitted to appoint one European medical practitioner to act in conjunction with a medical officer appointed by the United States at the port of departure and that no one shall be rejected as diseased unless certified to be so by both medical officers.

Sixth, that Chinese once admitted into the United States shall enjoy the same rights and protection accorded to the subjects of the most favored nation, and in case of ill treatment shall be entitled to damages from the government.

Seventh, that Chinese passing through the United States en route for another country shall enjoy the same privileges as the subjects of the most favored nations.

Eighth, that Chinese residing in the United States shall not be required to register unless such registration is required of the subjects of the most favored nation.

Ninth, that Chinese laborers shall be admitted into the Hawaiian and the Philippine Islands, provided that the legislatures or local authorities of such islands are willing. (While this proviso is satisfactory to the Hong Kong merchants, it seems to have been objected to by the Chinese of Amoy and Canton.)

Tenth, that any Chinese detained at an American port of entry for purposes of inquiry shall be permitted to engage legal assistance and furnish bond for appearance; should the decision be unfavorable, he shall have the right to appeal to the highest court of justice, and in case of any technical or formal error in his passport or certificate, he shall be allowed to correct the same without undergoing deportation.

Eleventh, that any Chinese residing in the United States shall have the right to bring his parents, wife, family and minor brothers and sisters to reside with him.

Twelfth, that Chinese lawfully admitted to the United States but deported because of failure to register shall be readmitted on satisfactory proof of possessing in the United States property or bona fide debt up to the required amount.

The second demand could not be complied with, without putting the enforcement of the exclusion act so largely in the hands of the Chinese government as to very much cripple it.

The third demand is reasonable. Our country ought to be bound by the act of its own consuls, except in case of fraud, and those who are to be excluded ought to be notified before incurring the expense of a trip across the ocean.

The fourth demand should not be complied with unless the Chinese government assumes pecuniary responsibility for any errors in the issuing of the passport and for the subject's compliance with the regulations provided by our government.

The fifth demand is absurd, because it virtually transfers to a European physician appointed by the Chinese government the power to decide on the health of the immigrant. While, according to the language of the demand, the Chinese appointee would act in conjunction with an American physician, a favorable report by the Chinese appointee would admit the immigrant in spite of an adverse report by the physician appointed by our government. It is perfectly proper that a physician appointed by the Chinese government should be permitted to be present at the examination, and it is only fair that the examination should be made at the port of departure, but it is necessary that the examination should be in the hands of physicians appointed, and removable, by our government.

The tenth demand is for the most part reasonable. A Chinaman detained for purposes of inquiry should be allowed to secure counsel and furnish bond, and if the error in his certificate is technical or formal, he should be allowed to correct it on such terms as are equitable, but it would hardly be wise to permit appeal to the supreme court unless some vital principle is involved.

Demands six, seven and eight are based upon the theory that Chinese in the United States should be treated in every respect like subjects of other nations, and this overlooks two material facts: First, that certain classes of Chinese are prohibited from coming to the United States; and, second, that the Chinese who do come to the United States come for reasons different from those which influence immigrants from Europe. (I shall consider the second reason later.) The fact that some Chinese are excluded while others are admitted makes it necessary to enforce rules against the Chinese that are necessary against immigrants from other nations. While no humiliating conditions ought to be imposed, still our country is justified in enforcing such rules and regulations as will prevent fraud and evasion. This cannot be considered an act of unfriendliness because our nation adopts the same principle in dealing with its own people. For instance, the voters in the cities are required to register from time to time, often at great inconvenience, while registration is not required in rural districts, the discrimination being regarded as necessary to prevent election frauds in the cities. In like manner, Chinese may be required to register, even though registration may be inconvenient, if experience shows registration to be necessary to prevent evasion of the immigration law.

In the case of travelers it ought to be possible to provide for such a certification of passports as to relieve Chinese tourists, whether passing through, or visiting in, the United States from annoyance or vexation. It goes without saying that they should be protected as completely as tourists coming from any other country. Every encouragement should be given to travel between countries, for an exchange of views and ideas between nations is as wholesome and as necessary to progress as social intercourse between individuals.

The ninth demand, while strenuously insisted upon by the Chinese, involves questions of the first magnitude. It is a question whether Chinese could be admitted into Hawaii and then excluded from other states and territories, and in the case of the Philippines, our country should be slow to establish a policy there before the length of our occupation is determined.

It will be noticed that the purpose of the first, eleventh and twelfth demands is to increase the number of Chinese in the United States. The eleventh contemplates the indefinite enlargement of the family of each resident by the addition of first, one wife; second (possibly), two parents, not to speak of an uncertain number of children, brothers and sisters. While to the Chinese who are accustomed to the patriarchal system, the admission of parents, brothers and sisters would seem a very natural demand, it would hardly seem reasonable to Americans unless it was limited to the classes excepted from the exclusion act.

The real interest, however, centers in the first demand, viz., that the definition of the term laborer shall be enlarged. I questioned several of the Hong Kong merchants in regard to the matter, and found that they desired especially the admission of clerks and skilled laborers. They contended that a Chinese merchant could not conduct a store in the United States without Chinese help and that to exclude clerks was virtually to exclude merchants. When questioned as to the number of clerks needed, they estimated that there were about four thousand merchants in the United States and that each merchant would need from six to ten clerks. When surprise was expressed at the number, it was explained that some had to cook and do housework. It was even argued that Chinese shoemakers and tailors were also necessary to provide clothing and footwear for the Chinese residing in the United States. There was a division of opinion as to whether laundry men should be classed as merchants and entitled to clerks. But excluding laundry men and counting eight clerks to the store, this one change in definition would open the door to about thirty-two thousand, almost a fifty per cent increase, according to the estimate made by the Hong Kong merchants, of seventy thousand Chinese now in the United States. Whether the admission of clerks could be so regulated and restricted as to make it possible to grant this demand in whole or in part is a question which I am not prepared to answer without further information as to the location of the merchants, the character of their business and the sentiment of the local community.

The admission of skilled laborers is one upon which it is easier to form an opinion. The Chinese are not only an industrious people, but they are capable of becoming skilled artisans. They could supply every factory in the United States with skilled workmen and still have millions to spare. Nearly all the reasons which apply to the exclusion of the coolie, apply to the skilled laborer, and they can, therefore, be considered together.

It developed during the dinner that while the demands expressly recognized the improbability of coolies being admitted, most of the Chinese present favored the entire repeal of the restriction law. They resented any discrimination against their people as unfriendly and unwarranted. One Chinaman of prominence, in another city, went so far as to intimate that such discrimination would not be permitted if China had a large army and navy and was able to enforce her rights.

As the whole question turns on the admission of the Chinese laborer, let us consider, first, the difference between the European immigrant and the Chinese immigrant and, second, the general objections to the admission of Chinese workmen.

The Chinaman, unlike the European, regards America as only temporarily his home, preserves his national customs and peculiarities and finally returns, carrying his savings with him. He is not attracted by our institutions and brings with him no love of American ideals. To him the United States is a field to be exploited and nothing more. The European casts in his lot with us, mingles with the population and in a few generations his identity is lost in our composite race. He has neither peculiarities of thought or dress to distinguish him from those among whom he labors, and his children are soon an indistinguishable part of the community. Not so with the Chinese. They are not only distinguished by their dress, language and habits, but they remain entirely separate and apart from those among whom they dwell. This difference is not only due to the wide dissimilarity in history, tradition and habit, but also to the absence of any permanent or patriotic interest in the land in which they sojourn.

The plane of living and the rate of wages are surprisingly low in China. When we were crossing the Yellow River I noticed a number of coolies unloading stone and inquired their wages. They received one hundred and fifty cash, or about seven and a half cents gold, per day. When this compensation is compared with the wages paid in the United States for the same kind of labor, it is easy to understand why Chinese laborers are drawn to our country. In discussing the immigration question with a Chinese official, I asked him what he paid his coachman. He replied that the head coachman received what was equivalent to $10 in gold per month, while the subordinates received from $3.50 to $5. Out of these wages they must pay for their own food. There is considerable difference in the efficiency of labor, but making due allowance for that, the Chinaman could in some occupations make twice as much in America as at home and yet work for half what Americans receive.

Long experience has taught the Chinaman to economize until he has reduced living to the minimum. Our guide in one city fixed $1 (50 cents gold) as the weekly cost of living for one person, but many live upon less. In traveling from Pekin to Hankow we were compelled to provide our own meals, and the very competent cook whom we secured was regularly receiving $1 a week in gold.

A ride through the streets of a Chinese city furnishes ample evidence of the economy of the people. The small measures used, the tiny piles of edibles exposed for sale, the little bundles carried from the market—these explain why cash, running about ten to a cent, can be used as currency. Oranges are often sold without the peeling, the peeling being sold separately, and peanuts seem to be counted instead of measured. At Canton we saw one man trudging home from market with a satisfied air, carrying two pig tails tied together with a piece of grass. The well-to-do have many delicacies, like birds' nest soup and shark fins, some of which we tasted at the luncheon given by the viceroy at Nanking and at the Hong Kong dinner; and among those who can afford it, elaborate dinners are quite common, but among the masses the food is of the cheapest and coarsest kind.

In the matter of fuel the same scrupulous economy is exercised. Every dead leaf and twig is scraped from the ground and even the weeds are condemned to fiery punishment for presuming to grow upon such precious soil.

It would require generations to bring our people down to a plane upon which they could compete with the Chinese, and this would involve a large impairment in the efficiency in their work.

It is not just to the laboring men of the United States that they should be compelled to labor upon the basis of Chinese coolie labor or stand idle and allow their places to be filled by an alien race with no thought of permanent identification with our country. The American laborer not only produces the wealth of our nation in time of peace, but he is its sure defender in time of war. Who will say that his welfare and the welfare of his family shall be subordinated to the interests of those who abide with us but for a time, who, while with us, are exempt from draft or military burden, and who, on their return, drain our country of its currency? A foreign landlord system is almost universally recognized as a curse to a nation, because the rent money is sent out of the country; Chinese immigration on a large scale would give us the evil effects of foreign landlordism in addition to its other objectionable features.

When I pointed out the fact that Chinese did not, like other immigrants, contemplate permanent residence in the United States, a Chinese official replied that they would become citizens if the law permitted it, and to the objection that they would even then remain distinct from the rest of the people, he answered by advancing arguments in favor of amalgamation. He claimed that the descendants (called Eurasians) of Chinese who had intermarried with Europeans were brighter than the average children of either race. I did not have an opportunity to test the accuracy of these conclusions, but it is evident that amalgamation has not been carried on to any great extent either in China or in the countries to which the Chinamen have gone. The instances of intermarriage are so rare that they do not affect the general problem.

The fact that the Chinese do now, and would probably if admitted to citizenship, form an unassimilated, if not an indigestible, element, separated from the remainder of our population by a race line, raises another objection to their admission as laborers. They make good servants, learning quickly and obeying conscientiously. Americans who have employed them testify to their trustworthiness and industry. If they were permitted to freely enter the United States, it is likely that they would soon solve the domestic labor problem, of which we hear so much, for as cooks, waiters and house boys they are an unqualified success. But what would be the effect upon our civilization of such a stratification of society? At present we have no racial distinction between employer and employé (except that presented by the negro problem), and one race problem is enough. If we were to admit Chinese coolies, we would find it more and more difficult to induce white people to enter into competition with them and manual labor would bear an odium which ought not to be placed upon it. We need to teach the dignity of labor and to lessen the aversion to it; a coolie class would make it difficult, if not impossible, to make progress in the work of cementing our society into one harmonious whole. If American ideals are to be realized there must be no barrier between the rich and the poor, no obstacles in the way of advancement from manual labor to intellectual work. China has suffered immeasurably because of the complete separation of her educated classes from her laborers.

A sentimental argument is sometimes advanced to the effect that we have no moral right to exclude any who seek to come among us. Whether this argument has any force depends, first, on the purpose of the immigrant, and second, upon our power to assimilate. If his coming is purely commercial and he has no ambition to improve us by his coming or to profit morally and intellectually by contact with us, he cannot demand admission upon moral or sentimental ground. And even if his paramount reason for coming were a desire to learn of us, it would still be necessary to consider how far we could go in helping him without injury to ourselves. While visiting the sick is most meritorious, one who gave all his time to such work, leaving no time for sleep, would soon be a physical wreck; feeding the hungry is most commendable, but one who gave away all of his substance, reserving nothing for his own nourishment, could not long serve his fellows. In like manner, our own power to help the world by the absorption of surplus population has certain natural and necessary limitations. We have a mission to fulfill and we cannot excuse ourselves if we cripple our energies in a mistaken effort to carry a burden heavier than our strength can support.

Students ought to be invited to our country; we can afford to make the welcome cordial and access to our institutions easy, for there is no better way of influencing other countries for good than through their young men and young women who, gathering new ideas in America, carry them back and apply them in their own country. A small part of the money now spent in building warships to protect us from imaginary foes would, if spent in the education of the children of foreigners, make us friends abroad who would constantly lessen the probability of war. The newspapers have given currency to the report that our government contemplates returning to China a part of the indemnity exacted because of the Boxer attack, and the Chinese are much gratified at the rumor. It is coupled with the statement that the return of the money would be conditioned upon the expenditure of the money for education. I can conceive of no greater favor that our country can bestow upon China than to make permanent provision for schools which will give the Chinese youth an opportunity to acquire the most modern instruction in literature and in physical and political science. If the sum to be returned were divided and the larger part given for the endowment of a series of universities in China, while the smaller part endowed a college at Washington, under the control of the Chinese embassy, it would do more to extend our commerce, our ideals and our prestige than a hundred times that sum expended on a military establishment or a navy.

There is one argument against the admission of coolies which ought to commend itself to the Chinese as well as to the Americans, viz., that the standing of China among us is prejudiced by the fact that she is judged by her lowest and most ignorant classes. There has always been an educated class in China, and while the number belonging to it has been limited and the scope of education narrow as compared with the scope of education in the western world, still there have been culture and refinement. Artists have appeared from time to time, as well as artisans skilled in porcelain, metal working, carving, decoration, etc. There have been merchants of standing and integrity (in fact, integrity is the rule among Chinese merchants.) If China could be known by these or even by the averaging of her superior and inferior classes, she would stand higher among the nations. But she is known now, except in diplomatic circles, by the coolies who are carried by contractors from one place to another until local sentiment leads to their exclusion. And, I may add, that it has led to their exclusion from Australia and that the question of exclusion from the Transvaal has been discussed in the English parliament.

This argument received respectful attention when presented to some of the prominent Chinese, for they recognize the injury which has been done to the nation's reputation by having the Chinese people known by their worst representatives.

There is a fourth argument, the force of which was admitted at the Hong Kong dinner by the merchants who had resided in the United States, viz., that the admission of coolies (and it would apply to skilled mechanics also) would involve the nations in constant diplomatic controversy over race conflicts. If it is human for Chinese to desire to improve their condition by immigration to the United States, it is also human for American laborers to resent enforced idleness when presented as an alternative to a lower scale of living. With any large increase in the number of Chinese laborers in the United States, it would be necessary to incur the expense of an increased army and police force to preserve order, and even then it would be difficult to prevent occasional violence, and violence in the United States would lead to retaliation upon Americans residing in China. These race riots in our country and in China would not only strain the relations between the nations but would nullify our attempt to create a favorable impression upon Chinese students and embarrass the work of our missionaries in China.

It is better to be frank and candid with the Chinese government. There are twenty times as many Chinese in America as there are Americans in China, and we give to China as much in trade advantage as we receive from her, not to speak of the money which Americans voluntarily contribute to extend education and religion in the Celestial empire. China has no reason to complain, for we have been generous in dealing with her. We can still be not only just, but generous, but it would be neither kindness to her nor fairness to our own people to invite an immigration of such a character as to menace our own producers of wealth, endanger our social system and disturb the cordial friendship and good will between America and China.

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While a deep interest in the political problems tempts me to deal at once with the policy to be pursued by our government with respect to the Filipinos, I am constrained to proceed logically and discuss first the islands and their people. And in speaking of the Filipinos, a distinction should be made between those who inhabit the northern islands and are members of one branch of the Christian Church and those who inhabit the island of Mindanao and the Sulu Archipelago—people who are followers of Mohammed. While a considerable number of Christian Filipinos are to be found in Mindanao and some in Sulu, the Sultans and Datus have dominated the country. Even Spanish authority never extended over the southern islands and the garrisons maintained at the seaports were constantly in fear of massacre.

Leaving the southern islands for the next article, I shall confine myself at present to Luzon, Panay, Negros, Cebu, Samar and the smaller islands which make up the Visayan group. These islands contain the bulk of the territory, a large majority of the people, most of the material wealth and practically all of the civilization of the Philippines. Luzon, the largest of the entire group, reaches north almost to the nineteenth parallel and is about six degrees long. Like the islands of Japan, it is mountainous and well watered. The other islands of the group are considerably smaller and extend as far south as the ninth parallel. They, too, are mountainous, but the valleys are fertile and support a large population. The principal industry is agriculture, and the soil produces a variety of cereals, fruits and vegetables. Rice, as in other oriental countries, is the chief article of food, though hemp is by far the largest export. The hemp plant looks so much like the banana that the traveler can scarcely distinguish between them. Sugar cane is also grown in many parts of the islands and would be cultivated still more largely but for the low price of raw sugar. Sugar, however, cannot be raised here with the same profit that it can in Hawaii and Cuba, owing to the fact that it must be replanted more frequently. Tobacco of an excellent quality is produced on several of the islands and in sufficient quantities to supply the home demand (and nearly all Filipinos use tobacco) and leave a surplus for export.

The cocoanut is a staple product here of great value, and its cultivation can be indefinitely extended. Of all the crops it probably yields the largest income on the investment, but as the trees do not begin to bear until they are about eight years old, they are only cultivated in small groves or by those who can afford to wait for returns. Copra, the dried meat of the cocoanut, is now exported to the value of two and a half million dollars, but systematic effort ought to very largely increase this export.

The methods of cultivation and the implements used are not as modern as one would expect. The carabao, or water buffalo, is the one all-purpose farm animal. Carabaos are something like the American ox, but are more heavily built; they are uniform in color—a dark drab—and have heavy, flat horns which grow back instead of forward.

The agricultural situation in the islands is at present most distressing. The fields were devastated by war, and before labor could restore what the soldiers had destroyed, rinderpest attacked the carabaos and in some places carried away as many as 90 per cent of the animals. We visited a sugar plantation which had lost more than half of its carabaos during the two weeks preceding. Everywhere one sees fields overgrown with grass which cannot be cultivated for lack of plow animals. One can understand something of the rinderpest calamity when it is remembered that these patient beasts do all the plowing and all of the hauling in the Philippine Islands. We often see them ridden, sometimes bearing two persons. In addition to the ravages of disease and the ruin wrought by arms, the Filipino farmer has suffered from the closing of his market. When United States authority was substituted for Spanish rule, the Filipinos lost the advantage which they had previously had in the Spanish market, and then they were shut out of the United States by a tariff wall. And to make matters worse, they now bear the brunt of the Chinese boycott aimed at American goods. Every speaker who has attempted to voice the sentiments of the people during our stay in the islands has laid special emphasis upon the injustice done to the islands by our tariff laws. This subject was also brought to the attention of Secretary Taft and his party, and all of the American officials here urge the importance of relief in this direction.

The well-to-do Filipinos live in houses modeled after those built by the Spaniards, but the great majority of the people live in what are called nipa huts—light structures made with bamboo frames and with sides and roofs of nipa palm leaves. The houses are several feet above the ground and are reached by a ladder or steps. As the temperature at midday does not change much the year round, the main objects in building are to secure protection from rain and an abundance of air, and the nipa hut meets these requirements. The Filipino house is not only light and airy, but it is inexpensive; we saw a school house at Santa Barbara built for five hundred pupils at an expense of five hundred pesos, or $250 in gold. At some of the military camps, which we visited, the Filipino style of building has been adopted.

The Filipino dress is quite like that worn in Europe and America; among the educated men it is identical. The men of the middle class wear a shirt of a gauzy material outside the trousers. The women wear a dress skirt with a long narrow train and a low-necked, wide-sleeved waist made of jusi (pronounced hoose), or pina (penya) cloth. A kerchief of the same material folded about the neck completes the toilet. All the thin fabrics worn by the women are manufactured on hand looms kept in the homes.

Iloilo is the center of the jusi cloth manufacture, of which we saw many beautiful samples during our tour of the islands. The pina cloth is made from the fibre of a leaf resembling that of the pineapple. In the province of Balacan a fine quality of silk is made on hand-looms—the weaving of fabrics being an accomplishment in which the women take pride. There is a coarser cloth made of hemp which is used for ordinary wear, and this is also produced in the home and sold on market days.

Such conflicting reports have reached the United States regarding the Filipino people that I was anxious to study them for myself, and I feel that I am prepared to form an intelligent opinion upon the subject. I have seen representatives of all occupations in all parts of the islands, in the cities and in the country. I have conversed with students and professional men, visited the markets where the rank and file meet and exchange their products, watched the farmers at work in the fields and the laborers in the city, and I have made inquiries of both Americans and natives. The Filipinos are a branch of the Malay race, but there is such a strong resemblance between some of the individual Filipinos and the Japanese as to suggest the possibility of a mixing of bloods, if not a common origin. At Hong Kong I visited a Filipino of prominence, and the young lady who admitted me so resembled the Japanese that I was surprised to learn that she was the daughter of my host. A few hours later I noticed a young man attending to some business in a shipping office and supposed him to be a Japanese, but found that he also was a full blooded Filipino. The Filipinos are a little darker than the Japanese and may average a little taller, but I have constantly been reminded of the Land of the Rising Sun during my stay here.

It is frequently said in disparagement of the Filipinos that they will not work, but this is answered conclusively by a patent and ever present fact, viz., that they produce their own food, make their own clothes, build their own homes and in other ways supply their needs. They have not the physical strength of the average American, nor have they the experience in machine labor or in the organization of work, but they will do more physical labor than a white man can perform in this climate and they have shown themselves capable of doing the finer kinds of work when instructed. They are also capable of successful co-operative effort when under efficient guidance. One of the commission informed me that the street car system lately inaugurated in Manila was put in at a labor cost of 40 per cent below the estimate, the work being done by Filipino laborers under an American contractor. This is certainly an excellent showing. The operating force is composed of Filipinos and the cars are run very successfully.

The superintendent of the railroad from Manila to Dagupan, an Englishman, speaks very highly of the Filipinos employed on the road. He says that he uses natives entirely for the train service and that he has not had an accident on the road during the thirteen years of its operation.

A large company of men were unloading stone and gravel from barges near our hotel, and they were as industrious and as cheerful a lot of workmen as one could wish to see. They carried the material in baskets and accomplished more, so far as I could judge, than the coolies whom I saw at similar work in China. The Filipino demands better treatment than that accorded to the coolie, but when employed by those who understand him and show him proper consideration, he is both competent and faithful.

In the government printing office nearly nine-tenths of the employés are natives (and the proportion is increasing), and Mr. Leach, the public printer, informed me that they readily learned the work and were able to run the typesetting machines and presses, do the bookbinding and stereotyping and other skilled work connected with the office. The newspaper offices of the city also employ native labor, and I need not remind my readers that the members of the various typographical unions of the United States are among the most intelligent of our skilled laborers. We visited the largest tobacco factory in Manila, the Germinal, and found between twelve and fifteen hundred men and women making cigars and cigarettes by hand and by machine. There are several smaller factories, and all are operated by native labor.

One of the leading furniture manufacturers of Manila is authority for the statement that in wood carving the Filipino soon becomes the equal of the Japanese artisan. The Philippine Islands are so near the Equator that the heat of the sun in the middle of the day and during the almost twelve months of summer must be taken into consideration. When due allowance is made for climatic conditions and for the fact that the inhabitant of the tropics lacks the spur of necessity which ever urges on the dweller in higher latitudes, one is inclined to excuse any seeming lack of industry. Sure it is that those who come here from America and Europe do not as a rule do enough manual labor to enable a comparison between them and the natives.

Besides those who work in the fields, on the streets and in the factories, there is an army of fishermen and boatmen. Fish forms a considerable part of the food supply of the island, and these are brought from the ocean, from the rivers and from the lakes by a hardy and active people. Much of the commerce is carried by water, and the boats are manned by natives. Except where the Chinese have monopolized the mercantile business, the stores are kept by Filipinos, men and women sharing the labor as they do in France.

And speaking of the women, it must be remembered that woman occupies a much higher place in the Philippines than in any other part of the Orient. The Filipinos contend that even before Spanish influence made itself felt in the islands, woman was accorded an equal place with man and divided with him both the honors and the responsibilities of the home. However this may be, it cannot be doubted that at present the rights of woman and her position in the family and in society are respected fully as much as in continental Europe. Her influence is felt in industrial and political life as well as in the church. At one reception a lady law student delivered an excellent address.

Under Spanish rule education was confined to a few. In fact, one of the indictments brought against the Friars by the natives was that educational facilities were denied to the masses. This, too, brought the Jesuits, the friends of education, into conflict with the Friars. But comparatively few of the people enjoyed the advantages of higher education, and these were a controlling influence in their respective communities. As in Mexico and in Cuba, the cultured men and women of the Philippines are thoroughly refined and polished in manner.

The American government has had no difficulty in finding men competent to fill the offices which have been assigned to the natives, three of the seven members of the commission and three of the seven supreme court judges being Filipinos. The governors and mayors are nearly all Filipinos, as are most of the judges of the lower courts. As there is no satisfactory service by private boats, the commission furnished us a coastguard steamer for a tour of the islands, the passengers paying the cost of subsistence, and we were thus enabled to visit the principal cities. At all of these places we found a group of intellectual and public spirited men. At Iloilo, Bacolod, Cebu and Santa Barbara there were addresses of welcome and public receptions, and the views of the residents were presented in clear and well chosen language. At Malolos, the first capital of the Aguinaldo government, which we visited as the guest of a committee of prominent Filipinos, similar speeches were delivered, which met with the approval of the assembled crowd. At Manila a public dinner was given by a number of representative Filipinos, headed by Mayor Roxas, at which speeches were made by Filipinos distinguished in official and professional life. The addresses delivered on these several occasions would compare favorably with speeches delivered under similar circumstances in the United States. While some of the persons who took part in these meetings showed traces of Spanish blood, others were unmistakably Filipino; but the racial differences could not be distinguished by the manner in which they performed their parts.

While at Manila I met General Aguinaldo, first at the reception tendered us by the Elks, and later at his own home in Cavite. Since his capture he has been living in retirement and has conducted himself in such a manner as to win the approbation of the American officials. He is small of stature, modest in deportment and manifests a deep interest in the welfare of his people. He has twice appealed to the government to establish an agricultural bank for the relief of the farmers, calling attention to the scarcity of money and to the high rate of interest (sometimes 40 or 50 per cent) charged the farmers on short loans. The agricultural bank was referred to by several speakers during our stay in the islands, and it is certain that, from an industrial standpoint, the government could do nothing which would be more beneficial or acceptable to the people.

Dr. Apacible, the head of the Hong Kong junta during the insurrection, now a practicing physician in Manila, was selected by the Filipino reception committee to accompany us on our trip, and being personally acquainted with the leaders of thought, he was able to bring us into contact with those who reflected the opinion of the people, while Captain Moss, of General Corbin's personal staff, and Collector Shuster, representing the insular government, kept us in touch with the Americans in military and civil life. We found everywhere commendation of the educational system established by the Americans. It is the one department of work instituted by our government which seems to have avoided serious criticism. I presented this universal commendation as evidence of the good intentions of our people, pointing out to the Filipinos that people are apt to assert their rights in proportion as they increase in intelligence, and that our people would not be foolish enough to encourage education if they really intended to do injustice to the Filipinos.

The large increase in the number of students and the interest taken in the establishment of schools must be taken into consideration by anyone who attempts to forecast the future of the islands. In many communities there are more people speaking English to-day than could ever speak Spanish, and the multitude of dialects will soon be dissolved into a common language. One superintendent of schools told me that in his district the attendance was more than 50 per cent above the school population, owing to the fact that grown men, and women with children, insisted upon studying. Another superintendent reported that she could not find teachers for all the villages which offered to erect school houses. An incident was related by still another teacher which illustrates the ambition of the Filipino youth. A Filipino boy, who was working in the home of an English woman notified his mistress that he wanted to go to school. Being anxious to keep him, she offered to raise his wages from twenty pesos per month to forty, but he rejected the offer, saying that he loved wisdom more than he loved money.

Besides the public schools, primary, secondary, industrial and normal, there are a number of religious schools. The Jesuits had their schools and colleges under Spanish occupation, one of the boys' schools which we visited at Cebu being older than Harvard University. The Catholic sisters also have numerous girls' schools throughout the islands. At Manila the Jesuits have an observatory and weather bureau which, for equipment and scientific accuracy, probably has no superior anywhere.

The Protestant churches are also establishing schools, some of them industrial. Who will measure the effect upon coming generations of these multiplying agencies for the training of the boys and girls of the Philippines?

The northern islands are inhabited by a Christian population. Whatever may be said of the governmental methods of Spain or of the political corruption of her colonial representatives, she established the Christian faith in the islands. Prior to American occupation the higher officials of the church and many of the priests were Spanish, but since 1900 American and Filipino bishops and priests are being substituted. Under the lead of Archbishop Harty the work of the church is being vigorously pushed and a large number of baptisms are reported. Several of the Protestant churches are gaining a foothold, there being upwards of ten thousand Filipinos enrolled in the evangelical churches. The Presbyterian church of the Tondo district, Manila, has something like four hundred natives, Señor Buencamino, secretary of state under Aguinaldo, and afterwards a member of the civil service commission, being president of the Tondo congregation.

No discussion of the religious situation in the Philippines would be complete without a reference to the independent Catholic church of which Señor Gregoria Agilpay is the head. Obispo Maximo Aglipay is a native Filipino, 46 years old, with an intelligent face and fine presence. In three and a half years he has established a church with some three hundred priests and about seven hundred congregations. He claims a membership of about four million, but the clergy of the regular Catholic church do not concede nearly so large a following. In fact, they deny that he has made any considerable impression upon the Catholic population, and as there is no accurate church census, it is impossible to say in what proportion the Catholic membership is divided between these two church organizations.

As to the honesty of the average Filipino, different opinions are to be heard from Americans, but we are told that less care is taken to lock the doors than in America, which would indicate less fear of burglary. The Philippine court records would embarrass us if we became too harsh in our reflections upon the integrity of the Filipino, for during the years 1902-3-4-5 thirty office-holding Americans were found guilty of shortages and defalcations, the total amount embezzled exceeding seventy thousand dollars, gold. Bilibid prison at Manila is the penitentiary for the northern islands and most (I think all) who receive more than a jail sentence are confined here. There are now about forty-six hundred prisoners in Bilibid, nearly eleven hundred serving terms for brigandage, insurrection, rebellion and sedition—the remainder for other crimes. If the convicts average a year's sentence each, the number of natives sent to the penitentiary during four years would have to be about twenty-five thousand, to give the native population a criminal class equal to the proportion which the thirty convicted Americans bear to the entire American population in the islands, and it must be remembered that the defalcations have been among Americans selected because of their supposed character and capacity. There have been many defalcations among the fiscal officers appointed among the natives, but not knowing the total number of the Filipinos occupying fiduciary positions and the number of Americans occupying similar positions, I can not make a comparison. Our chief consolation is to be found in the fact that Americans guilty of dishonesty have been promptly punished by the American officials, but this does not entirely remove the stain which their conduct has brought upon our nation's good name.

I can not conclude this article without expressing my appreciation of the courtesy shown me by Acting Governor Ide, Secretary Furguson, the members of the Philippine commission and the other officials, civil and military. They were all willing to furnish information, records and statistics regarding the things done under American authority. While mistakes have been made, some of them expensive; while there have been outrages by the constabulary (which is merely a native army officered by Americans and serving under another name) and while there have been instances of seeming partiality to Americans where a conflict has occurred between them and natives, I believe that the serious evils to be complained of are not personal, but are inherent in a colonial system and can not be eradicated so long as such a system is maintained.

The greatest need that I noted in the islands is an increase in what we call the middle class, but this need is noticeable in the other Spanish colonies which I have visited and will be corrected as education increases among the masses. With more education among the farmers there will be improved methods of agriculture, and with more education among the artisans will come diversification of industry. This middle class will be a balance wheel, as it were, to regulate the machinery of society, and it will furnish a public opinion which will control official representatives.

The following extracts concerning Mr. Bryan's visit are taken from Filipino papers:

December 27, El Renacimiento, said editorially:

"Bryan. This is a name among names. Others may boast of it but in their cases it does not mean so much. The daily press to-day fills column after column regarding him and his name is in the mouths of everyone. The events of yesterday claim special notice, consisting, as they do, of more than mere generalities.

"Why do these simple people salute us? Do they treat the Americans here this way? These are questions which were asked of his companions during the trip through Paranaque, Las Pinas and Bacoor yesterday.

"'The salutations are for you,' replied a prominent Filipino, 'because they know that it is you who is approaching. These people do not know you, but they have learned that you are here and your name is revered by them.'

"In fact few names of Americans can be mentioned among Filipinos which will excite more feeling. Bryan did not need to come here in order to be popular.

"The principal impression produced by his presence, even upon his adversaries in politics, is his consummate amiability and discretion. Bryan has made no statements or passed any judgment regarding the Philippine administration. He has not given any excuse for his being characterized as an agitator or a scoffer at the enterprise which the United States, as a nation, has undertaken in these islands.

"But does this signify that Bryan will abstain from collecting data for future use? We believe not. One can easily hope for a highly optimistic opinion from him, but a party man takes his ideas and prejudices with him wherever he goes and he sees things through the light of his convictions."

One Manila paper prints the following:

The Elks gave a rousing reception last night to William Jennings Bryan at the club house on the Luneta, and all of Manila turned out to do homage to their distinguished guest. The club rooms were artistically arranged with flags and potted plants and the spacious halls were the scene of many groups of well-known faces.

Punch and lemonade were served during the evening and the music was furnished by the constabulary band.

The guests were received by Colonel Dorrington and Mrs. Dorrington, Governor Ide and Mr. and Mrs. Bryan, and were ushered by Messrs. Reiser, Patstone, Steward and Fisher.

There was considerable stir when Emilio Aguinaldo entered the hall and was ushered up to the receiving party. He was introduced to Mr. Bryan by Governor Ide. Aguinaldo said in Spanish, "I am glad to meet you; I have been very anxious to see you. I have heard a great deal of you." This was interpreted to Mr. Bryan who said, "We have heard your name in our country also." Then Mr. Bryan said, taking hold of Aguinaldo's arm and turning to Mrs. Bryan, "This is Aguinaldo."

At a meeting of prominent native citizens held in the office of the president of the municipal board and presided over by that official, the following program for entertaining Mr. Bryan was decided upon:

A public banquet at one of the hotels of Manila.

An evening entertainment at the Liceo de Manila, at 4 o'clock p. m., on January 6, with the following program:

1. Parade of the students.

2. Address of welcome to the Honorable William Jennings Bryan.

3. Band.

4. Speech by Mr. Bryan.

5. Theatrical performance by the students of the college.

The Manila Times of January 1 gave an account of the popular banquet given to Mr. Bryan in the Luzon restaurant. From this report the following extracts are taken:

At the popular banquet held in honor of William Jennings Bryan last Friday night in the Luzon restaurant, the distinguished guest showed the same caution as at Malolos in dealing with the questions of policy affecting these islands, never at any time doing more than skirting issues which if not dead are generally quiescent.

About 150 guests sat down at the tables, though when the speaking began there were probably close on 300 persons present, most of the new arrivals being young Filipinos of the class which made itself prominent in the "Independence Day" held recently before the visiting congressmen in Marble hall.

The program, which was somewhat artistically designed, had on its first page the Stars and Stripes; inside, the picture of Mr. Bryan and the menus and names of the committee of organization, and on the last page the Katipunan emblem of the rising sun and the three stars. During the evening the Rizal orchestra discoursed music at intervals.

Generally, the speaking was too long; Judge Yusay, who occupied a place on the program, consuming an hour in a speech which finally tired its hearers. Mr. Bryan, the last orator, did not close his remarks till half-past one.

In his own speech he took occasion to say that he did not feel at liberty to speak freely as he would in the United States. Two or three times when his remarks were leading to a climax whose logical sequel appeared to be some reference to independence, his audience waited almost breathlessly, but he carefully evaded the seemingly logical denouement and ended in some relevant but not thrilling expression, one could sense rather than hear the sigh, in some cases of relief, in others of disappointment, which followed.

His address dwelt chiefly on two thoughts, the first being that there is a tie which binds all mankind together, that tie being knit up with the human heart, and the second being what constitutes civilization and how it may be attained.

The following report is taken from the Manila Times of December 28:

"Independence the Soonest Possible."

"Malolos Obliged."

"Mr. Bryan, the Hope of Our Nationality."

"W. J. Bryan, Defendant of Our Liberty."

Such were the legends mounted upon the arches under which William Jennings Bryan passed from the railroad station to Malolos on the occasion of his provincial excursion yesterday. The trip was made by the famous democrat, in company with his wife and children, as guests of Mr. Higgins. The private car of Mr. Higgins and an extra coach took the party first to Gapan, where it arrived about 9:30 a. m., after having stopped at several of the stations en route, where Bryan made short addresses to the delegations, which were in attendance at the stations with bands of music and banners flying to greet him.

At Malolos, the seat of the former revolutionary government and the center of operations of the prime movers in the "independencia" campaign, luncheon was had at the home of Mrs. Tanchanco, an opulent Filipino matron. After the luncheon was over Teodoro Sandico rose to introduce Sr. De Luce, who addressed the following words to the assembled guests:

"I salute the real champion of a democratic people, the true defender of the rights of the people; he who at Kansas City included in his platform the independence of the Philippine Islands. I am sorry that his presence in Malolos, once the capital of a Filipino republic, is so short. So deep-rooted is the desire for independence in the Filipino people that the news of the arrival of this champion has brought to Malolos many from all about, only to greet their savior. Such spontaneous manifestations by all grades of people will, I believe, convince you that we desire our independence at once. It will show you that we have a right to nationality, that we have everything that is necessary to support a government of our own. If the government will give us this independence it will show it is the champion of liberty as it did in its treatment of Cuba. Such a step here will eliminate the need of a great American army twice its natural size, and it would avoid the corruption of the principles inherited from the ancestors of Americans. If America will not give us full independence, grant us a democratic government! Separate the executive and legislative branches! Give us real independence of the judiciary! We drink a health to those who have not forgotten the true principles of Americans."

After the toast to the great orator had been drank, Bryan rose to his feet and addressed some two or three hundred natives, aside from those who were gathered at luncheon. The following is his address:

"Allow me to thank you for the welcome you have extended to my family and to me. I appreciate also the kindly manner in which you have referred to the way in which I have tried to express my friendship for the Filipino people. I do not propose to discuss here political questions. I have not felt that in these islands I should enter on any disputed questions.

"Some things I can say with propriety. While you appreciate the manner in which I have attempted to show my friendship for the Filipinos, do not make the mistake of believing that those who differ from me are not interested in this people. In my country there are two great political parties, republican and democratic. They enter into contests which are strenuous, but in fundamental principles both are the same. Thomas Jefferson founded the democratic party. Abraham Lincoln was the first great republican. Lincoln has left records to show the admiration that he felt for the principles and utterances of Thomas Jefferson.

"In two contests I was defeated by the republicans, but I believe as much in the patriotism of those who voted against me as I do in the patriotism of those who fought for me. Those who agreed with me announced a policy for the Philippines. Those who opposed me did not. But do not make the mistake of believing that those others are enemies to the islands. I believe the majority of all American people without regard to politics or party are sincere well wishers of the Filipinos. Yes, all.

"However you may differ about policies, all your people speak well of what our country stands for in regard to education. Let me remind you that these little children who are attending school speak more eloquently in your behalf than I am able to do. The more educated people you have among you the easier will be the task for those who speak for you in the United States. The more respect your people show for the law the easier will be the task for those who speak for you. The higher the ideals shown in your language and your lives the easier the task of those who speak for you. I want you to have as much confidence in the republicans in power as I have, though I have been twice defeated by them. And when I say this I am not trying to pay them for anything. I do not owe them anything. When I say trust them, I say it because I believe the American people want to do right and, given the time, will find out what is right on every question.

"Differences of opinion must be expected. In fact, that people differ in opinion is to their credit rather than to their discredit. Those who agree in everything do not as a rule think on anything. Differences of opinion must not only be expected but must be respected. Do not expect our people to administer authority here without mistakes. They make mistakes at home, and if we democrats get into power, good as we are, we will make mistakes. The Spanish made mistakes here, and so would the Filipinos. I suggest that if you want to help us who are interested in you, you can do it by supporting with all the enthusiasm you have, the efforts made by America here. Let us hope that whoever is in authority here and there, they will have the wisdom to so promote the welfare of all, as to unite both peoples in an eternal affection."

Conception Felix, the president of the Women's Association of the Philippines, followed Mr. Bryan and spoke of the duty of the islands in securing for them the best advantages for their welfare, and concluded with the statement that the women of the Philippine Islands demanded their independence.

After leaving Malolos the trip to Pasig was made and the return to Manila was so timed as to allow the party to arrive at Santa Mesa in good season. A special car of the street railway company met it there.

At the reception given at Bacolod, on the island of Negros, January 5, Señor Joaquin Jortich spoke as follows:

"Hon. William Jennings Bryan and distinguished party—Gentlemen:

"The people of Bacolod and the province in general, through me, have to-day the honor of greeting their distinguished visitors, giving to them all a most cordial and sincere welcome, and very especially to the illustrious leader of the democratic party who has deigned to grant us the high distinction of his visit.

"Mr. Bryan has doubtless noticed since he set foot on Filipino soil that the people of the islands received him as if he were an old and beloved friend.

"There is nothing strange in this; one of the most striking qualities of the Filipino is gratitude, even though his enemies and detractors assert the contrary. The Filipino people know that Mr. Bryan has been and is a sincere champion of the Filipino ideals and interests in America, and this little suffices to make all here, without distinction, receive him to-day with open arms and with hearts swelling with joy.

"His visit to-day to this province gives us the satisfaction of knowing him personally, as well as the opportunity of expressing our true sentiments toward the North American people, to whom we hope to make our humble voice heard through the channel of our illustrious visitor.

"The Filipino people can not fail to thank Providence which has appointed to them the good fortune of being under the protection of the noble and powerful Stars and Stripes.

"No one familiar with the history of the constitution of North America can fail to admire the spirit of wisdom and morality which permeates its most liberal institutions.

"It is true that the Philippines bill is not in every way based upon the principles which that constitution breathes, and it is also true that in the government administration there exist certain prejudices which find no place in so wise a constitution; but those defects are errors which we hope will be rectified in time and through the education of the people.

"To deny that the Filipino people aspire to independence in the future would be to deny the light of the sun in broad day. But in spite of this aspiration, we understand that peoples, like men, in order to be independent must necessarily pass in strictly chronological order, through different stages, which they can not traverse by leaps and bounds. Nor do we fail to realize that the liberty, great or small, which may be granted to a people, must be in direct relation to the state of their culture.

"Our ambition is just and within the bounds of reason and logic. We wish independence through evolution, because we understand that a people, differing from another in race and in its ethnographical and ethnological conditions, can never be governed with justice and equity except by itself; and this, because the pride of superiority will always dominate the governing race to the detriment of the governed, and the latter will never be happy. Some of the congressmen and senators who were here a short time ago have said in Washington that the Filipino people are growing away from the American people. That statement is by no means as clear as it should be.

"The Filipino people, by virtue of being a tropical race, are very sensitive, and with the same impetuosity with which they love and admire a benefactor, they hate and despise a tyrant.

"The American people have brought us in the Philippines many things of great value; they have bestowed upon us many benefits and have granted us many liberties which formerly we did not enjoy; but it is also true that among the good things they have brought some evils; among the benefits there have sprung up like brambles certain unjust abuses, and among the many liberties conceded us petty tyrants have arisen to restrict them. Therefore, the Filipino people have grown away from the bad Americans, but in no way from the American people to whom we owe but gratitude and love.

"We love those who love us and despise those who despise us. However defective our past civilization may have been, it has left in our hearts the feeling of dignity which befits a people of culture.

"Unfortunately, in the Philippines, not all those who are here as Americans possess the noble sentiments of the American people, whom we admire and love, for we would be contemptible did we, through the fault of some bad representatives, come to hate an entire nation which has been and is lending us its aid.

"Our illustrious visitor has proof positive of my assertion. The Filipino people, without knowing him personally, receive him with open arms and as to an old and beloved friend open to him their hearts, telling him their troubles.

"This is the Filipino people, these are their real feelings towards the people of North America.

"We trust that these prejudices may disappear in time, as these two races, destined to live together, continue on the road of mutual sympathy and a better understanding.

"With regard to our present situation, from an administrative standpoint, although we are relatively better off than formerly, nevertheless there are in the present government many defects which merit censure.

"Against such defects we shall continue to struggle until the Philippines possess a legislative body which shall know better than that of to-day the needs and conditions of this people.

"At present we have no legislative body but the civil commission, composed of three Filipino members, without portfolios, and four American members with them. The latter members, the majority of whom do not know the country in its inside phases, clearly can never dictate laws which are adapted to the circumstances and conditions of the people.

"The Philippine archipelago is very diverse in its ethnographical and ethnological conditions, and, therefore, it is very difficult to frame a law which is adapted to its general necessities, unless one has an accurate and profound knowledge of the situation and conditions of each and every one of the thirty-some provinces which form the archipelago.

"Another of the greatest defects which we observe in the present government is the inequality and lack of justice in the appointments of government positions, as between Filipinos and Americans, with the exception of the judiciary which is the department most evenly distributed.

"In the civil commission and in the provincial boards the voice of the Filipino is not in the majority, neither, therefore, is the voice of the people. It is true that the municipalities appear to operate with the fullest liberty, but this liberty is restricted, because the provincial board exercise direct control over all their acts, so that municipal autonomy is, as a matter of fact, nominal.

"The most noble and acceptable institution which American government has established here is that of public instruction. Even the officials in that department are also the best liked and those upon the most friendly terms with the Filipino people, although defects are not entirely absent as is the case with every human creation. Against this department we can say nothing up to the present. God grant that it may continue so for many years, without being affected by the discord and prejudice which the enemies of the country seek to sow.

"With respect to the economic phase, we could be no worse off than we are now, and this can be easily explained. Since the year 1896, in which the revolution against Spain commenced, the Philippines have gone from bad to worse in all their economic conditions, particularly in the matter of agriculture which is the sole source of their wealth. Of 56,000,000 acres of land which we have fit for cultivation, only 6,000,000 acres are cultivated and 50,000,000 are not cultivated. War, drouth, cholera and rinderpest among our work animals, have prostrated us to such an extent that all which the farmer might say of the situation pales before the reality. To these inferior troubles must be added others on the outside, the lack of market for our sugar; Japan, protecting herself from Formosa, raises her custom tariff upon sugar; China, with the boycott, closes her market to us because of our relations with America, and rich America, which should protect us, also closes her doors to us with a Dingley tariff.

"To sum up, the Philippines have no money, they have no production, they have no market. Could there be a harder situation?

"The plantations paralyzed and the laborers without work—thus rises the germ of ladronism. The scarcity of money is such that in order to find a dollar to-day one needs a searchlight, and to make matters worse the articles of prime necessity rise in price, making existence almost impossible for the poor workman.

"In the time of the Spanish government there were in circulation some two hundred million of Mexican pesos, to-day we have hardly thirty million, according to the last report of the secretary of finance, a sum which, when divided among eight million inhabitants, gives 3.75 pesos per capita.

"If to this we add the stoppage of all business through the paralysis of commerce and the industries, it will be seen that with 3.75 pesos for each inhabitant, pauperism, hunger and misery are necessary consequences.

"Here we have the actual state of the Philippines, whose competition the powerful sugar trust in America still fears. America needs three million tons of sugar for her home consumption; her production amounts to only one million tons, so that she must import two million tons from abroad. The Philippines produce only three million piculs of sugar, or about 187,500 tons. Is it possible to dream of competition?

"Our money crisis can only be met by the establishment of agricultural mortgage banks, and if we wish to escape disaster in that enterprise it is necessary that its administration be completely separated from the government, with the exception of the usual powers of inspection, this because it is well known that prosperity in these affairs is based upon mercantile interest, which does not exist in government officials, whose interests are political rather than mercantile. As proof of this statement let us look at what happened with the $3,000,000 which the national government donated to the insular government to improve the grievous situation of the country. With all our soul we are grateful for so generous a gift, but we greatly regret that the government has not known how to administer it better. The $3,000,000 have been exhausted, but the situation of the country has not improved in the slightest degree. That was, indeed, a disaster.

"To-day questions involving many millions are being discussed and it would be very lamentable if the protection and good wishes of the national government should come to naught through a mistaken or defective administration. Our agricultural crisis is due rather to the terrible mortality of the work animals, which is to-day extending to all classes of cattle. This is a misfortune from which we have been suffering since the year 1901. Five years of massacre, no stock in the world will stand it.

"To remedy this state of affairs we need machinery which will take the place of the work animals, and we believe that the free entry of every class of machinery for a definite time would be one of the most efficacious means of fomenting and encouraging the many lines of industry which we have to exploit, and, therefore, of raising the country from the state of prostration in which it is found.

"With what has been said, our distinguished guest will be able to form an idea of the situation of this country under its triple aspect, political, administrative and economic and echo across the seas our by no means enviable condition. I have spoken."

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The term Moro is used to describe the Mohammedan Filipino and includes a number of tribes occupying the large island of Mindanao, the smaller islands adjacent to it and those of the Sulu archipelago.

The northeast corner of Mindanao is separated from the island of Leyte by the Surigao Strait, and that part of Mindanao has considerable sprinkling of Christian Filipinos, but both that island and the Sulus can be considered Moro country. The Americans recognize the difference between the two groups of islands and administer government according to different plans. Civil government has been established in the northern islands, and except where ladronism prevails, law and order reign. There are in some places, as in northern Luzon, wild tribes in the mountains, but these are so few in number and so different from the civilized Filipinos that they do not enter into the solution of the Philippine problem.

In Mindanao, however, and the other Moro provinces warlike tribes have been in control. They have furnished a large number of pirates and have frequently invaded the northern island, carrying back Filipino slaves. They never acknowledged the authority of Spain and succeeded in keeping most of the island in the southern group free from Spanish control. Our country probably exercises authority over more Moro territory than Spain ever did, and yet our authority is limited and we employ the military form of government rather than the civil.

In our tour of the islands we crossed over the narrow part of Mindanao, went up the Cotabato valley and called upon the Sultan of Sulu at his home near Maibun on the island of Sulu.

We landed at Camp Overton, a military post on Iligan bay on the north coast of Mindanao, and immediately began the ascent to Camp Kiethley, eighteen miles in the interior. A military road has been constructed between these two camps, following for the greater part of the way the Spanish trail. Owing to the heavy rainfall and the luxuriant growth of vegetation it is difficult to keep a road in repair, and not far from the coast we passed a large number of prisoners who were engaged in straightening and improving it. About three miles from the coast we made a short detour in order to see the famous Argus Falls, and they are well worth seeing. The Argus river, which at this point is a larger stream, falls two hundred and twenty feet and rushes by a tortuous route through the narrow walls of a gorge. The falls are not only picturesque, but they suggest the possibility of future use. It has been calculated that one hundred thousand horse power is here going to waste. The military authorities have been trying to secure an appropriation for an electric railroad from Camp Overton to Camp Kiethley with the intention of obtaining power from the falls, but this would utilize only a small fraction of the energy which the Argus possesses. Two miles farther up the road we turned aside to see the rapids of the same river and here made our first acquaintance with the Moros. We found a dozen of them under a rude shed of palm leaves preparing the evening meal. The most conspicuous dish, at least the dish that attracted our attention, was a skillet full of grasshoppers being done to a neat brown over a slow fire. While we were watching them, two half bare children returned from the chase with a large supply of fresh grasshoppers strung upon grass. The Moros have a most repulsive habit of dyeing the teeth black, the enamel being first scraped off. Add to this the red tinge left on the lips by chewing of the betel nut and the mouth is anything but beautiful. The clothing of the Moros is scanty and of a cheap quality. The men, when at work, often wear nothing but a breech cloth. When dressed up they wear very tight fitting trousers of gay color; a tight fitting waist and a turban completes their company dress. A garment much worn by men and women is the sarong, which is a piece of cloth sewed together like a roller towel and folded about the body. The men, no matter what else they wear or fail to wear, have a scarf wound around the waist in which they carry a knife, of which there are several varieties, the bolo, the sarong and the kris being the most popular. The Moros above mentioned consented to having a snapshot taken, and their spokesman informed us in broken English that he had visited the St. Louis Exposition. Captain McCoy, one of General Wood's staff, who accompanied us as far as Zamboanga, explained to us that a number of Moros were sent to St. Louis as an experiment and that they had returned very much impressed with what they saw in the United States.

As we proceeded on the road to Kiethley we passed the spot where a sergeant was cut to pieces by the Moros three weeks before. While all the Moros carry knives and are expert in their use, they set a high estimate upon a gun, and the hapless traveler who carries one of these envied weapons is apt to be waylaid, if alone, and lose his life as a penalty for his rashness. With this incident fresh in his memory, Col. Steever, of Camp Overton, furnished us with a mounted guard. During the first part of the ride we passed through a forest in which there were many large trees, some of them with fantastic trunks, others festooned with vines and all surrounded by a thick undergrowth which furnish an admirable cover for reptiles, beasts or hostile natives. A boa-constrictor, thirty-six feet long, was recently killed not far from the road on which we traveled.

I have referred to the killing of the sergeant and mentioned the reason sometimes given. It is to be regretted that we occasionally lose men for reasons that reflect upon us. Governor Devore, whose jurisdiction extends over a part of Mindanao, officially reports the killing of one soldier in a quarrel which grew out of an attempt by the soldier to secure native wine without paying for it.

The latter part of the ride was through a series of small hills covered with cogon grass. The soil looks like it might be very fertile, and we passed one little ranch where an American had set out some hemp plants, but there was little evidence of cultivation along the line.

Camp Kiethley is about twenty-three hundred feet above the sea on a hill which bears the same name, and commands a beautiful view of the surrounding country. The ocean can be seen to the north, and to the south a magnificent mountain lake stretches away for twenty miles. A regiment under the command of Col. Williams is stationed here, and this is considered one of the most healthful situations in the Philippine Islands. The American officers insist that Mindanao has a better climate than Luzon, and some of them are enthusiastic about the possibility of drawing American settlers to the island. General Wood has given much attention to the products and climatic conditions, and has encouraged the coming of Americans to Mindanao. Some two hundred of these have settled about Davao bay in the southeastern part of the island and are cultivating hemp. I found, however, that most of the members of the military circle were counting the months intervening before the time of their return to the States. The ride across Lake Lanao took us in sight of some hostile country whose inhabitants still refuse to acknowledge allegiance to the United States. Some of the cottas, or forts, from which Moros have been driven within a few months were pointed out to us. Governor Devore is building a model town on the shore of the lake and hopes to convince the natives of the friendly intentions of our country.

Camp Vickars is only a few miles south of the lake and near the summit of the divide. The elevation here is twenty-nine hundred feet and the site for the camp is well chosen. It is about twenty-two miles from this point down to Malabang, the seaport on Llana bay, and Captain Foster, who is in command at Camp Vickars, furnished us with a mounted escort. The ride down to the sea was even more enjoyable than the trip to Camp Kiethley, the road leading through forests more dense and foliage more varied. The journey was enlivened by the sight of a number of monkeys sporting in the trees and by the discordant notes of the horn-bill. There is a waterfall on the south side of the range also, nearly half way down the summit, which, while it does not compare with the Argus Falls, could be used for the development of several thousand horse power.

The camp at Malabang, now under command of Col. Varnum, has a splendid water supply derived from several large springs, but the harbor is so poor that the government is preparing to remove the camp to Parang, about twenty miles south, where there is an excellent harbor.

At Malabang we took our boat again, it having gone around the island while we crossed over, and proceeded to Cotabata near the mouth of the Rio Grande river. Acting Governor Boyd met us here with a river steamer and took us to his headquarters about thirty-five miles further up the river. We had a double purpose in making this trip, first to see one of the most fertile valleys on the island; and, second, to pay our respects to Datu Piang, a friendly Moro of considerable influence among the natives. The Rio Grande is a crooked stream, wending its way through the high grass, the monotony being broken now and then by cocoanut groves, rice fields, mango trees, banana plants and hemp. While there is no such systematic cultivation here as in the northern islands, there is enough to show the possibilities of the soil.

The moon was shining brightly when we approached Governor Boyd's camp, and we were greeted by a salute of lantakas (small brass cannon) so numerous that we lost all count. Datu Piang had inquired of the governor how many guns should be fired and was told that as I held no official position, he could use his own discretion as to the number. In order that he might not err on the side of too few, he fired between fifty and a hundred. We had scarcely disembarked before he came in state to make an official call, seated on the roof of his vinta, or ceremonial barge, manned by forty oarsmen. He was accompanied by his leading datus, his Mohammedan Arab advisor and his East Indian interpreter. He brought with him also his two sons and two of the sons of the late Datu Ali, who met a violent death last fall at the hands of the American troops.

I regret that we were not able to secure a photograph of him as he approached, for it was a sight of royalty such as we had not before witnessed. No language can convey the impression that he made upon us as he approached the shore, smoking a cigar and flanked on either side by a brown skinned urchin bearing an open umbrella of red silk trimmed with wide yellow fringe. He stayed long enough to compliment the American officials and to commend Judge Powell, who happened to be with us, for treating the rich and the poor alike. Piang's sons and the younger son of Datu Ali have been studying English under the instruction of Governor Boyd's wife, and they showed creditable progress in arithmetic as well as in the use of the language. Piang said that he wanted the boys to finish their education in the United States.

Datu Piang is not of royal blood; in fact, he is part Chinese, but he showed himself so able a financier that he became indispensable to Ali, the reigning Datu, and gave his daughter, Minka, to him in marriage. When the Americans entered the valley, Piang counseled surrender, but Ali went on the war path and he and his father-in-law became such bitter enemies that the latter refused to receive his daughter into his house after Ali's death, until urged to do so by the American officers.

We returned with Piang in his barge and spent a half an hour at his house. In that dimly lighted upper room there gathered a dusky, half-bare crowd of men and women and children, in the center of which sat Minka, the child-widow, just recovering from the wounds which she received at the time of her husband's death. I never felt more deeply, than when I looked upon them, the responsibility of our nation, or more anxious that our country shall so act as to bring to these people the largest possible amount of good. One would be hard hearted, indeed, who could see in them and in their habitation nothing but the possibility of exploitation.

When we left, Piang gave a lantaka to each of the men in our party, and to some of us spears and knives in addition, while the ladies were remembered with vessels of brass, of native manufacture, and sarongs. If our visit had been a hostile one, the cannons and weapons carried away would have made it memorable, for many expeditions have returned with less of the spoils of war.

Our next stop was at Zamboanga, the most important port on the island and the headquarters of Governor Wood. The harbor at the city is not very well protected, but there is a little bay about eight miles away which affords both deep water and shelter. We found more Americans at Zamboanga than at any point outside of Manila, nearly all of them being in the service of the government. We visited two Moro schools here and listened to an address of welcome in English delivered by one of the students. Dr. Saleeby, an Armenian, is the superintendent of schools in Zamboanga and has furnished a great deal of information in regard to the tradition, history and customs of the Moros. He has also prepared primers in Arabic for the Moros of Mindanao and the Sulu Islands.

Our tour of the islands ended at Jolo, or rather at Maibun, on the other side of the island. Jolo is the chief seaport of the Sulus, and the Spanish alternated with the natives in occupying the space within the walled city. A guard is still kept at the gate and the Moros are not allowed to remain within the walls at night. They enter freely during the day, but are required to leave their weapons outside the gate. There are only five Americans in Jolo, besides the government officials; two of these keep restaurants, two have saloons and the fifth has recently opened a photograph gallery.

Just outside of the city walls there is a Chinese village (as there is also at Zamboanga), the mercantile business being largely in the hands of the Chinese in both of these towns. There are a number of Christian Filipinos at both Zamboanga and Jolo.

The sultan of Sulu used to live in Jolo when the Spanish were not there, but during their occupancy of the town, and since, he has lived at Maibun on the opposite shore some ten miles distant. Major Stafford, who is in command of the post there, in the absence of Colonel Scott, invited the sultan to come to Jolo on the day of our arrival, and he appeared promptly on time. So much has been written of him in the United States that the readers of these articles may be interested in a description from life. He came on a pony, accompanied by a servant, who held over him a large red umbrella, and followed by a retinue of datus, head men and small boys. A native band beat drums and tom-toms as the procession moved along. The sultan himself was dressed in modern clothes, but all the rest wore the native dress. His single-breasted, long-tailed blue broadcloth coat was buttoned to the throat with gold buttons and his trousers were of the same material. He wore tan shoes and a fez of black and red, and carried a gold-headed ivory cane given him by the Philippine commission upon his last visit to Manila. He is small of stature, but compact in build, and carries himself with dignity and reserve. His teeth are black and he shares with his countrymen a fondness for the betel nut and tobacco. His prime minister, Haji Butu, who accompanied him, speaks more English than the sultan, though the latter is able to use a few words. After a short call we all repaired to a hall near by where a spear dance had been arranged, and we saw the natives, men and women, go through native dances which, in some respects, resemble those of the American Indian.

The next morning we crossed the island under the protection of a troop of cavalry and returned the sultan's call. (A few miles from the trail stands a mountain[3] where about eighty Moros still refuse allegiance to our government.) He lives in a nipa house but has a frame building covered with galvanized iron (still unfinished) in which he receives his guests. He sent for one of his wives (of whom he has four); he has three or four concubines, he does not know which, but these are not included in the list of wives. The prime minister has four wives and two concubines, and one of the head men, at whose house we stopped on the way, had several wives. The sultan said that the wives were usually kept in separate houses, but that his lived together in one house.

The sultana, whom we saw, was dressed in silk, with trousers of red and white striped satin and wore high heeled shoes. She has a strong face, one of the most intelligent that we saw in Sulu. Both the sultan and his wife wore diamond and pearl rings. At our request the sultan brought forth his diamonds and pearls and exhibited his uniforms, heavy with gold braid and buttons. He is now drawing a salary of about five thousand dollars a year from the American government for exerting his influence in our behalf, and as a matter of economy it might be cheaper to put the datus on the pay roll than to suppress them by force of arms. His salary, however, is probably due as much to his being the head of the church as to his fighting qualities.

We sailed from Maibun to the Bornean coast in order to take a steamer for Singapore, and as we are studying colonialism, it was probably fortunate that we did, for we found a few foreigners developing North Borneo with Chinese coolies, the natives being lost sight of entirely.

At Sandakan there are thirty-eight English, two Germans and two thousand Chinese, but we searched in vain for a native. In and about Kudat, another Bornean port, there are twenty-two Europeans and ten thousand Chinese, and here we found only a few of the original inhabitants. At Labuan there are about twenty-five foreigners, and the local business is in the hands of the Chinese and East Indians.

I refer to the plan of development adopted in those parts of Borneo at which our steamer stopped because they throw light upon the colonial question with which we have to deal. Having described briefly, but as fully as space permits, the conditions as I found them in the Philippines, I shall devote the next article to a discussion of the policy which should be pursued by the United States in regard to them.

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Having in previous articles discussed the conditions as I found them in the Philippines, let us consider what the United States should do in regard to the Filipinos and their islands.

First, as to the northern group of islands—the islands north of Mindanao. Have the Filipinos a right to self government? Do they desire self government and independence? Have they the capacity for self government?

The first question must be answered in the affirmative if our theory of government is correct. That governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed, is either true or false; if true, we cannot deny its application to the Filipinos; if false, we must find some other foundation for our own government.

To the second question I am able to answer, yes. My visit to the Philippines has settled this question in my own mind. I have heard people in America affirm that the intelligent Filipinos preferred American sovereignty to self government, but this is unqualifiedly false. Captain J. A. Moss, a member of General Corbin's personal staff, recently made a trip through the provinces of Pampanga, Nueva Ecija and Pangasinan and published a journal of his trip in one of the Manila papers upon his return. He concluded his observations as follows: "The discharged soldiers who are married to native women and who are 'growing up with the country' and are, therefore, in a most excellent position to feel the native pulse, all told me the great majority of the natives have no use for us. Ex-interpreters and other Filipinos with whom I was on intimate, cordial relations while serving in the provinces, told me the same thing. I have, therefore, from the foregoing, come to the conclusion that the Filipinos may be divided into three classes: (a) The 'precious few,' comprising those who are really friendly towards the Americans and think our government beneficial to the islands. (b) Those who are in some way beneficiaries of the government and entertain for us what may be termed 'expedient friendship.' (c) The great majority, who have absolutely no use for us and to please whom we cannot get out of the islands any too soon."

The conclusion drawn by Captain Moss is warranted by the facts, and the feeling for independence is stronger in Manila, if possible, than in the provinces. I talked with Filipinos, official and unofficial, and while they differed in the degree of friendliness which they felt toward the United States, all expected ultimate independence. The college students of Manila in the various law schools, medical colleges, and engineering schools, numbering in all about a thousand, prepared and presented to me a memorial of more than fifty printed pages. This was prepared by sub-committees and afterwards discussed, adopted and signed by the students. It presented an elaborate review of the economic, industrial and political situation, viewed from the standpoint of these young men. It criticised certain acts of the American government thought to be unjust and set forth arguments in favor of self government and independence—arguments so fundamental and so consistent with American ideals that no American statesman would have publicly disputed them ten years ago.

The Filipinos point out that the Americans lack that sympathy for, and interest in, the Filipinos necessary to just legislation, and this argument is no reflection upon the good intentions of Americans. In fact, good intention is generally admitted, but Americans at home recognize, as do Filipinos here, that good intentions are not all that is required. We have in the United States men of equal general intelligence but differing so in sympathy that no amount of good intent can keep one from doing what the other regards as unjust. Take for instance, the representative capitalist and the average laboring man; neither would feel that the other, however well meaning, was competent to speak for him.

The Filipinos also deny that the Americans are sufficiently acquainted with Philippine affairs to legislate wisely. We also recognize the force of this argument at home, and we leave the people of each state to act upon their own affairs. The people of a city would resent interference in their local affairs by the people of the county although identical in race and language. And they would resent just as much the attempt of any group of men, however wise, to direct their government during a temporary residence. How, then, can congress expect to legislate wisely for people who are not only separated from America by the widest of the oceans, but differ from the people of the United States in color, race, history and traditions? How can a body of men, however benevolent and intelligent, hope by a few months' residence to so identify themselves with the Filipinos as to make rules and regulations suited to their needs?

The Filipinos also present an argument against the expensiveness of American rule, and this argument is not only unanswerable, but it is directed against an evil which is without remedy. If Americans are to hold office in the Philippines, they must be well paid. They must not only receive as much as they would receive in the United States for the same work, but they must receive more in order to compensate them for serving so far from home. This is not only theoretically true, but the theory is exemplified in the pay roll. The governor general receives $20,000 a year, two-fifths of the salary of the president of the United States, and yet, what a contrast between the duties and responsibilities of the two positions! And what a difference, too, in the wealth of the two countries and in the ability of the taxpayers of the two countries to pay the salaries!

The three American members of the commission (excluding the governor general) receive $15,000 per year, almost twice the salary of cabinet officers and three times the salary of senators and members of congress. It is true that these salaries do not appear as salaries paid for work on the commission, but as each American member of the commission receives $10,000 as head of a department and $5,000 as a member of the commission, his total income is $15,000 while the Filipino members of the commission receive but $5,000.

The members of the Philippine supreme court receive $10,000 each (the Filipino members of the court receiving the same as the Americans), a sum much larger than that usually paid to judges in the United States in courts of similar importance. This high range of salaries runs through the entire list of civil officials, and there is no chance of lowering it. Except in the case of judges, the Filipino officials, as a rule, receive considerably less than the Americans performing similar work, and this is a constant source of complaint. To Americans it is a sufficient answer to say that high salaries are necessary to secure able and efficient officials from the United States, but the Filipino is quick to respond, "why, then, do you insist upon sending us Americans to do what our people could do and would do for less compensation?"

Not only must the salaries of Americans be high, but Americans must be surrounded with comforts to which the average Filipino is not accustomed. No one can remain in the Philippines long without hearing of the Benguet road and the enormous amount expended in its construction. There is a mountain resort in Benguet Province, in north central Luzon, which the commission thought might be developed into a summer capital or a place to which the families of the officials, if not the officials themselves, might retreat during the heated term. The railroad running from Manila to Dagupan would carry the health-seeker to within thirty or forty miles of Benguet, and an engineer estimated that a wagon road could be constructed the rest of the way for $75,000. It seemed worth while to the commission to appropriate that much for a purpose which promised so much for the health and comfort of those engaged in the benevolent work of establishing a stable government. The commission could hardly be blamed for relying upon the opinion of the engineer, and the engineer doubtless meant well. But the first appropriation scarcely made an impression, and the second engineer estimated that the cost would be a little greater. Having invested $75,000, the commission did not like to abandon the plan and so further appropriations were made until more than two millions and a half dollars, gold, have been drained from the Insular treasury, and the Benguet road is not yet completed. If it is ever completed, it will require a constant outlay of a large sum annually to keep it in repair.

Having met the members of the commission and other Americans residing in the Philippines, I am glad to testify that they are, as a rule, men of character, ability and standing. The personnel of Philippine official life is not likely to be improved, and so long as we occupy the islands under a colonial policy, the Benguet experiment is liable to be repeated in various forms, and yet the Filipinos point to the Benguet folly to show that the Americans are both ignorant of local conditions and partial toward the foreign population.

The third question, are the Filipinos competent to govern themselves? is the one upon which the decision must finally turn. Americans will not long deny the fundamental principles upon which our own government rests, nor will they upon mature reflection assert that foreigners can sympathize as fully with the Filipino as representatives chosen by the Filipinos themselves. The expensiveness of a foreign government and its proneness to misunderstand local needs will be admitted by those who give the subject any thought, but well-meaning persons may still delude themselves with the belief that Spanish rule has incapacitated the present generation for wisely exercising the franchise, or that special conditions may unfit the Filipinos for the establishment and maintenance of as good a government as can be imposed upon them from without.

Before visiting the Philippines, I advocated independence on the broad ground that all people are capable of self-government—not that all people, if left to themselves, would maintain governments equally good, or that all people are capable of participating upon equal terms in the maintenance of the same government, but that all people are endowed by their Creator with capacity to establish and maintain a government suited to their own needs and sufficient for their own requirements. To deny this proposition would, as Henry Clay suggested more than half a century ago, be to impeach the wisdom and benevolence of the Creator. I advocated independence for another reason, viz., because a refusal to admit the Filipinos capable of self-government would tend to impair the strength of the doctrine of self-government when applied to our own people. Since becoming acquainted with the Filipinos I can argue from observation as well as from theory, and I insist that the Filipinos are capable of maintaining a stable government without supervision from without. I do not mean to say that they could maintain their independence, if attacked by some great land-grabbing power (it would be easier to protect them from aggression if they were independent, for then they would be interested with us against the attacking party), but that so far as their own internal affairs are concerned, they do not need to be subject to any alien government. There is a wide difference, it is true, between the general intelligence of the educated Filipino and the intelligence of the laborer on the street and in the field, but this is not a barrier to self-government. Intelligence controls in every government, except where it is suppressed by military force. Where all the people vote, the intelligent man has more influence than the unintelligent one, and where there is an obvious inequality, a suffrage qualification usually excludes the more ignorant.

Take the case of the Japanese for instance, no one is disposed to question their ability to govern themselves, and yet the suffrage qualifications are such that less than one-tenth of the adult males are permitted to vote. Nine-tenths of the Japanese have no part in the law making, either directly or through representatives, and still Japan is the marvel of the present generation. In Mexico the gap between the educated classes and the peons is fully as great, if not greater, than the gap between the extremes of Filipino society, and yet Mexico is maintaining a stable government, and no party in the United States advocates our making a colony of Mexico on the theory that she cannot govern herself.

Those who question the capacity of the Filipinos for self-government overlook the stimulating influence of self-government upon the people; they forget that responsibility is an educating influence and that patriotism raises up persons fitted for the work that needs to be done. Those who speak contemptuously of the capacity of the Filipinos, ignore the fact that they were fighting for self-government before the majority of our people knew where the Philippine islands were. Two years before our war with Spain, Rizal was put to death because of his advocacy of larger liberty for his people, and after witnessing the celebration of the ninth anniversary of his death, I cannot doubt that his martyrdom would be potent to stir the hearts of coming generations whenever any government, foreign or domestic, disregarded the rights of the people.

A year before our war with Spain the Filipino people were in insurrection against that country, and they demanded among other things "parliamentary representation, freedom of the press, toleration of all religious sects, laws common with hers, and administrative and economic autonomy."

Here was a recognition of the doctrine of self-government and a recognition of the freedom of the press as the bulwark of liberty. There was also a demand for freedom of conscience and the right to administer their own affairs for their own interests. In the proclamation from which I have quoted there was no demand for independence, but it must be remembered that we did not demand independence from England until after we found it was impossible to secure justice under a colonial system.

Whether by the demand for "laws common with hers" the Filipinos meant that they wanted the protection of laws made by the Spanish for themselves, I do not know. If that is the meaning of their demand, they must be credited with understanding the importance of a principle to which some of our own public men seem to be blind. The evil of a colonial policy, the gross injustice of it, arises largely from the fact that the colony is governed by laws made for it, but not binding upon the country which makes the laws. The Mexican who does not participate in the making of the laws of his country has at least the protection of living under laws which bind the maker as well as himself. So with the colored man of the south who does not vote, the laws which he must obey must be obeyed by those who do vote, and the taxes which he pays must be paid also by those who enjoy the franchise.

But under a colonial system the subject must obey a law made for him by one who is not himself subject to the law. The distinction is so plain that it ought to be apparent to anyone upon a moment's thought.

If it is objected that but a small proportion of the Filipinos are educated, it may be answered that the number of the educated is increasing every day. The fact that the Filipinos support the schools so enthusiastically, even when those schools are established by outsiders and when the teaching is in a language strange to them, speaks eloquently in their behalf. Nor is this a new-born zeal. The Aguinaldo government provided for public schools and, cock fighting being prohibited, cock pits were actually turned into school houses in some sections over which the authority of his government extended.

It is objected by some that the intelligent Filipinos would, under independence, use the instrumentalities of government to tyrannize over the masses. This is not a new argument; it is always employed where an excuse for outside interference is desired, but there is no reason to believe that the Filipinos would be less interested in the people of their own race and blood than are aliens whose salaries are so large that it is impossible for them to claim that they serve from purely altruistic motives.

That those in power in Washington contemplate independence must be admitted, unless those who speak for the administration intend gross deception. In his speech on the evening of Rizal Day, December last, General Smith, one of the Philippine commission and head of the educational department,[4] said: "Popular self-government for the Philippines is the purpose of both people. If either seeks to achieve it independent of the other, the experiment is doomed to failure. If both work for it harmoniously there is no reason why it should not be accomplished. If it is accomplished, the history of the Philippines will hold no brighter page than that which recites the struggle of a simple people to fit themselves for independent government. If it is accomplished, the fairest page in American history will be that which records the creation of a new nation and the unselfish development of an alien race." If this is not a promise of ultimate independence, what possible meaning can the language have? If the administration does not intend that the Filipinos shall some day be independent, its representatives should not hold out this hope.

But there is even higher authority for the hope of independence. When the so-called "Taft Party" visited the Philippines last summer, Secretary Taft made a speech in which he assumed to speak for the president. Referring to the president's opinion, he said: "He believes, as I believe and as do most Americans who have had great familiarity with the facts, that it is absolutely impossible to hope that the lessons which it is the duty of the United States to teach the whole Filipino people, can be learned by them, as a body, in less than a generation; and that the probability is that it will take a longer period in which to render them capable of establishing and maintaining a stable independent government."

This, it is true, states when independence cannot be hoped for, rather than when it can be hoped for, and yet, no honest man would use the language Secretary Taft employed without having in his mind the idea that independence would be granted at some future date. But his concluding words even more clearly present the hope of ultimate independence, for he says: "All that can be asserted is that the policy which has several times been authoritatively stated, that this Filipino government shall be carried on solely for the benefit of the Filipino people and that self-government shall be extended to the Filipino people, as speedily as they show themselves fitted to assume and exercise it, must be pursued consistently by the people of the United States or else they shall forfeit their honor."

Here Secretary Taft pledges the American government as far as he has power to pledge it—and he pledges the president also—to extend self-government to the Filipinos as rapidly as they show themselves fitted for it. The great trouble about these utterances and similar ones is that they are not binding upon the government, and the Filipinos are constantly disturbed by doubts and fears. Both at Manila and in the United States ridicule is often cast upon the aspirations of the Filipino people, and plans are made which are inconsistent with ultimate independence. The attempt on the part of the commission to issue perpetual franchises is naturally, and I think rightfully, opposed by all Filipinos. If our occupation is to be temporary, why should our legislation be permanent? Why bind the ward in perpetuity so that he cannot control his own affairs when he reaches years of maturity? What is needed is an immediate declaration of the nation's purpose to recognize the independence of the Filipinos when a stable government is established. It is not necessary that a definite time shall be stated, nor is it so important just when the Filipinos are to have their independence, as it is that the nation's purpose shall be made known in an authoritative way and that the subsequent acts of our government shall be in harmony with that declaration. I believe that a stable government can be established within a short time and that independence could be granted with advantage to our government and with safety to the Filipinos within five years at the farthest. But whether independence is to be granted in five or ten or fifteen years or after a longer period, there should be no longer delay about announcing a policy. I have tried to impress upon the Filipinos the necessity of leaving this question to the people of the United States and the importance of proving in every possible way the virtues, the character and the progress of the people; I have pointed out the folly of insurrection and the damage done to their cause by resorting to force of arms, but I am equally anxious to impress upon my own countrymen the importance of dealing frankly and fairly with the Filipinos.

We have more at stake in this matter than have the Filipinos. They still have their national greatness to achieve; our position is already established. We have the greatest republic known to history; we are the foremost champion of the doctrine of self-government and one of the leading exponents of Christianity. We can afford, aye our honor requires us, to be candid with the Filipinos and to take them into our confidence. We dare not make them victims of commercial greed or use their islands for purely selfish purposes. It is high time to announce a purpose that shall be righteous and to carry out that purpose by means that shall be honorable. In my next article I shall endeavor to elaborate a plan which will, in my judgment, bring independence to the Filipinos, relieve us of the expense of colonialism, secure us every legitimate advantage which could be expected from a permanent occupation of the islands and, in addition, enable our nation to set the world an example in dealing with tropical races.

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In speaking of the Philippine independence I have presented some of the reasons given by Filipinos for desiring it, but there are arguments which ought to appeal especially to Americans. If it were our duty to maintain a colonial policy, no argument could be made against it, because duties are imperative and never conflict. If, on the other hand the Filipinos desire independence and are capable of self-government, we cannot justify the retention of the islands unless we are prepared to put our own interests above theirs, and even then we must be satisfied that our interests will be advanced by a colonial policy.

In the beginning of the controversy there were many who believed that the Philippine Islands would become a source of profit to the United States. It was confidently predicted that a multitude of Americans would flock to the islands and find rich reward in the development of their resources. These hopes have not been realized. Except in Mindanao, of which I shall speak later, there is no evidence of any present or future colonization by Americans. There are a few Americans engaged in business in Manila and at other army posts, but these are insignificant in number and the business done by them is nothing as compared with the cost of colonialism to the United States. We are maintaining about twelve thousand American soldiers in the island and five thousand native scouts, officered by Americans and paid for by the United States. Besides this outlay for the army, our Philippine policy has been made the excuse for a large increase in our naval expenditures. While it is difficult to determine accurately the annual cost of our Philippine policy to the people of the United States, it is safe to say that it exceeds the value of all the merchandise that we export to the Philippine Islands and all the money made by Americans in the islands, including salaries paid to Americans from taxes collected in the Philippines—and the expenses are borne by all the people while the benefits are received by a mere handful. No one, therefore, can justify the holding of the Philippines on the ground that they are a pecuniary advantage.

If it is argued that we need the Philippine Islands as a base for the extension of our trade in the Orient, I answer that it is not necessary to deny the Filipinos independence in order to hold a sufficient number of harbors and coaling stations to answer all the requirements of trade. The Filipinos are not only anxious to have the advantage of our protection, but they recognize that to protect them we must have harbors and a naval base. In return for the services we have rendered them we have a right to ask, and they would gladly grant, such reservations as we need. These reservations could be properly fortified and would furnish coaling stations both for our navy and for our merchant marine. It goes without saying that in case we had war with an oriental nation, it would be infinitely better to have the Filipinos supporting us, in their own interest as well as out of gratitude, than to have them awaiting an opportunity for insurrection.

I have already referred to the danger which may come to the principle of self-government in the United States from the systematic denial of self-government to the Filipinos. As our officials can only explain their continued presence in the Philippines by alleging incapacity in the Filipinos, they find themselves unconsciously surrendering the governmental theories which were until recently universally accepted in our country. We cannot overlook the influence that these changed opinions may have upon the politics of our own country if a colonial policy is indefinitely continued.

Neither can we ignore the fact that our prestige as a teacher of the principles of republican government must be impaired if we hold colonies under the law of force and defend ourselves by using the arguments employed by kings and emperors as an excuse for denying self-government to their own people. We cannot preach that governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed and at the same time adopt a different principle in practice.

It is worth while also to remember that foreign service is more or less demoralizing to our troops. Our soldiers are good, average men, but all men are more or less influenced by environment, and our soldiers cannot be expected to maintain as high a standard of morality when far away from home and the influences of home, as when their good purposes are strengthened by the presence of mothers, sisters and friends. The hospital records show the extent to which our soldiers yield to the temptations which surround the post, and the saloons that follow our army speak forcibly of the dangers which attend foreign service. Can we afford to subject the morals of our young men to such severe tests unless there is some national gain commensurate with the loss?

If our nation would at once declare its intention to treat the Filipinos living north of Mindanao as it treated the Cubans, and then proceed, first, to establish a stable government, patterned after our own; second, to convert that government into a native government by the substitution of Filipino for American officials as rapidly as possible; third, to grant independence to the Filipinos, reserving such harbors and naval stations as may be thought necessary; and, fourth, to announce its purpose to protect the Filipinos from outside interferences while they work out their destiny—if our nation would do this, it would save a large annual expense, protect its trade interests, gratify the just ambition of the Filipinos for national existence and repeat the moral victory won in Cuba.

In return for protection from without, the Filipinos would agree, as the Cubans did, that in their dealings with other nations they would not embarrass us.

The reservations retained could be converted into centers for the extension of American influence and American ideals, and our nation would increase its importance as a real world power. Unless our religion and our philosophy are entirely wrong, moral forces are more permanent and, in the end, more potent than physical force, and our nation has an opportunity to prove that a nation's greatness, like the greatness of an individual, is measured by service. It also has an opportunity to prove that the Oriental can be led by advice and improved by example and does not need to be coerced by military power.

Our reservations ought to contain model schools, with a central college, experimental farms and institutions in which the people could be trained in the arts and industries most suited to the natural resources of the country. Our nation is unfitted by history and by tradition to exploit the tropical countries according to the methods employed by the monarchies of Europe. To hold people in subjection requires a large military expenditure; if we were to attempt to make our own people bear such a burden, they would soon protest; if we were to make the Filipinos bear it, it would crush them. The Filipinos would resist such a policy, if employed by us, more bitterly than if it were employed by a European country, because they have learned from us the lessons of liberty. Subject peoples are not willing laborers, and our country would not endorse a system of compulsory labor. Education, too, is inconsistent with a permanent colonial system and cannot be carried far without danger to the ruling power.

We must choose, therefore, between two policies, and the sooner the choice is made, the better. As we cannot adopt the European policy without a radical departure from our ideals, and ultimately from our form of government at home, we are virtually forced to adopt a plan distinctly American—a plan in which advice, example and helpfulness shall be employed as means of reaching the native heart. Some of the European nations have been content to seize land and develop it with European capital and Chinese labor; our plan must be to develop the natives themselves by showing them better methods and by opening before them a wider horizon. At our reservations there would be religious freedom, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, self-government and public instruction for all, and every uplifting influence would have free play. If we believe that right makes might and that truth has within itself a propagating power, we cannot doubt the spread of American civilization from these American centers.

While the Philippine Islands are under American authority, the government ought to be administered for the benefit of the Filipinos, in accordance with Secretary Taft's promise. If they are to be subject to our tariff laws when they buy of other nations, they ought to have free trade with us, but the Philippine Islands are so far from us that it would be more just to allow the Philippine tariff to be made by the Philippine assembly soon to be established. The Filipinos belong to the Orient and their dealings must be largely with the countries of the Orient; unless they are in a position to have their tariff laws conform to their geographical position, there must necessarily be friction and injustice.

So important are geographical considerations that Americans who see fit to take up their residence upon such reservation as we retain for harbors, coaling stations and a naval base ought to be freed from the fetters of our tariff laws and shipping laws. I even venture to suggest the creation of an Oriental territory, to be composed of such stations and reservations as we may now have or hereafter acquire in the Orient. This territory should have a delegate in congress like other territories, but should be freed by constitutional amendment from our tariff laws and permitted to legislate for itself upon the subject. It could thus establish free ports, if it chose, and give to its people the trade advantages enjoyed by those who live in Hong Kong, Singapore and other open ports.

In what I have said about independence and self-government in the Philippines, I have been speaking of Luzon and the other islands north of Mindanao. As I have already pointed out, the conditions existing in Mindanao and the Sulu archipelago are so different from those existing in the northern islands that the two groups should be dealt with separately. It would not be fair to deny independence to the Christian Filipinos living in the north merely because the Moros have never shown any desire to adopt a republican form of government. (They live under a sort of feudal system, with sultan and datu as the ruling lords.)

But while the work of establishing a stable government among the Moros is a more difficult one and will proceed more slowly, the same principles should govern it. The Moros have furnished a great many pirates for the southern seas, and the influence of the adventurer and free-booter is still felt in Moroland. Then, too, they have an unpleasant way of killing Christians, on the theory that by doing so they not only insure an entrance into heaven, but earn the right to four wives in their celestial home. Occasionally a Moro takes an oath to die killing Christians (he is called a juramentado), and after a season of fasting and prayer, and generally with shaven eyebrows, he goes forth to slay until he himself is slain. Besides those who deliberately take human life by retail or by wholesale, there are religious fanatics who act under frenzy. All in all, the Moro country is far below the northern islands in civilization whether the civilization is measured by a material, an intellectual, a political or a moral standard. But even among the Moros I believe it is possible to introduce American ideas. Already some progress is being made in the establishment of schools, and Governor Findley has succeeded in interesting the natives in exchanges where trade is carried on according to American methods. While polygamy is still permitted, slavery is being exterminated and the natives are being shown the advantage of free labor. I believe that even among them our work can be advanced by assuring them of ultimate independence, to be granted as soon as a government is established capable of maintaining order and enforcing law. By educating young Moros and then using them in official position, we can convince the Moros of the sincerity of our friendship, and these officials will exert an increasing influence for good. In the meantime, we should establish experimental stations and by the use of native labor train the people to make the best use of the resources of their country. I believe General Wood is already planning for an experimental farm near Zamboanga.

While the Moros are a fierce people and accustomed to bloodshed, they have enough good qualities to show the possibility of improvement. They are a temperate people, abstaining entirely from intoxicating liquors, and while they practice polygamy and add concubinage to plurality of wives, they carefully guard the chastity of their women. They have their system of laws, with courts for the investigation of criminal charges and for the imposition of fines. The existing code in the Sulu archipelago, while lamentably below our penal code, shows a desire for the establishment of justice between man and man. Dr. Saleeby has published a translation of the existing code, together with the code (not yet adopted) prepared by the present prime minister of the sultan, and a comparison of the two shows distinctly that American influence is already being felt.

While I do not believe that any large number of Americans can be induced to settle permanently in Mindanao (and Mindanao seems to be the most inviting place), there will be ample time to test this question while a government is being established among the Moros. It is more likely that the waste lands will be settled upon by immigrants from the northern islands and that in time the Christian Filipinos will be sufficiently numerous to control the islands, and they can then be annexed to the northern group.

The leaven of American ideas is already spreading. At Zamboanga we met Datu Mandi, who has adopted the American dress and opened one of his buildings for a Moro school for girls. He is manifesting an increasing interest in the American work. Datu Mandi's brother was one of the Moros taken to the World's Fair and he, too, has abandoned the native dress. I have already referred to the desire expressed by Datu Piang to have his sons attend school in America. This is a good sign, and money spent in educating them would reduce military expenditures in that part of the island. The sultan of Sulu also wants to visit America, and a trip would do him more good than a year's salary. As soon as we convince these people that our purpose is an unselfish one, they will become willing pupils, and in the course of time they will find the home more congenial than the harem and the ways of peace more pleasant than the war path.

While our plans should be unselfish, they would probably prove profitable in the end, for friends are better customers than enemies, and our trade is apt to develop in proportion as we teach the natives to live as we do. When Solomon came to the throne, instead of choosing riches or long life, he asked for wisdom that he might govern his people aright, and he received not only wisdom, but the riches and the length of days which he had regarded as less important. May we not expect a similar reward if we choose the better part and put the welfare of the natives above our own gain?

After all, the test question is, have we "faith in the wisdom of doing right?" Are we willing to trust the conscience and moral sense of those whom we desire to aid?

Individuals have put Christianity to the test and have convinced themselves that benevolence, unarmed, is mightier than selfishness equipped with sword and mail, but nations have as yet seldom ventured to embody the spirit of the Nazarene in their foreign policy. Is it not an opportune time for our nation to make the trial? Our president has recently been hailed as a peacemaker because he took the initiative in terminating a great war, but this involved no sacrifice upon our part. May we not win a greater victory by proving our disinterested concern for the welfare of a people separated from us not only by vast waters but by race, by language and by color?

Carlyle in concluding his history of the French revolution declared that thought is stronger than artillery parks and that back of every great thought is love. This is a lofty platform, but not too lofty for the United States of America.

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We had not thought of visiting Java, but we heard so much of it from returning tourists as we journeyed through Japan, China and the Philippines, that we turned aside from Singapore and devoted two weeks to a trip through the island. Steamers run to both Batavia (which is the capital and the metropolis of the western end of the island) and Soerabaja, the chief city of eastern Java, and a railroad about four hundred miles long connects these two cities. A tour of the islands can thus be made in from ten to fifteen days, according to connections, but unless one is pressed for time, he can profitably employ a month or more in this little island, attractive by nature and made still more beautiful by the hand of man. There are excellent hotels at the principal stopping places, and the rates are more moderate than we have found elsewhere in the Orient.

The lover of mountain scenery finds much in Java to satisfy the eye. The railroad from Batavia to Soerabaja twice crosses the range, and as the trains run only in the day time, one can, without leaving the cars, see every variety of tropical growth, from swamp to mountain top, from cocoanut groves and rice fields on the low land to the tea gardens and coffee plantations of the higher altitudes, not to speak of mountain streams, gorges and forests.

Java is the home of the volcano and contains more of these fiery reservoirs than any other area on the earth's surface. While only about six hundred miles in length and from sixty to a hundred and twenty miles in width, it has, according to Wallace, thirty-eight volcanoes, some of them still smoking and all of them interesting relics of a period when the whole island was deluged with molten lava. Some assert that almost all of Java has been built up by the eruptions of volcanoes. Two extinct volcanoes, Salak and Gedah, can be seen from Buitenzorg, and from the top of Boro Boedoer temple nine volcanoes can be counted when the air is clear—at least Groneman so declares in his description of this temple, although not so many were visible the day we visited there.

It is only twenty-three years ago that Krakatau, which stands upon an island of the same name in the Strait of Sunda, just off the east end of Java, startled the world with an eruption seldom equaled in history. It began smoking in May, 1883, and continued active until the 26th of August following, when explosions took place which were heard at Batavia, eighty miles distant, and the next day the explosions were still more gigantic, being audible two thousand miles away. The loss of life caused by the mud and ashes and by the waves set in motion by the eruption was officially estimated at over thirty-six thousand. Various scientific societies, especially of Holland, England and France, made exhaustive reports on the Krakatau eruption. The Royal Society of Great Britain estimated that the volume of smoke arose to a height of seventeen miles and that several cubic miles of mud, lava and stones poured forth from the crater to the ruin of a large area. At one place the water rose more than seventy-five feet and threw a steamship over the harbor-head into a Chinese market; but under the influence of a tropical sun and abundant moisture the slopes of the volcano soon grew green again, and now the natives speed their skiffs through the adjacent waters and the inhabitants of this volcanic belt live and move with little thought of the mighty forces which have so often demonstrated their powers in the archipelago.

If one is interested in the study of trees, plants and flowers he can employ himself indefinitely in the famous botanical garden in Buitenzorg. While Batavia is the normal capital of Netherlands India, the governor general lives at Buitenzorg—a city built on a mountain slope forty miles from Batavia, where an altitude of some seven hundred feet gives an average temperature of eight degrees below that of the sea level. The botanical garden surrounds the palace and for nearly a century the authorities have been collecting specimens of the flora of the tropics.

The present superintendent of the garden, Herr Wigman, is an enthusiast in his line, and we are indebted to him for a most enjoyable tour through the garden. The main entrance leads through an avenue of gigantic kanari trees, set some forty feet apart and forming a verdant roof that entirely excludes the sun. The officials believe that they have made this the most attractive driveway in the world, and so far as my observation goes, they are justified in their claim. Climbing vines of every variety have been trained upon these trees until their enormous trunks stand like so many columns draped in living green. One climbing vine, with a trunk which one would mistake for a tree if it stood alone, has festooned a row of trees three hundred feet long and is still reaching out for new conquests. Herr Wigman shows this monster vine with pardonable pride, but he has found on his visits to Europe that he could not give a truthful description of it without endangering his reputation for veracity. We saw, here, also, rattan vines of seemingly endless length, hanging from lofty limbs or coiling on the ground like a colony of serpents. A specialty has been made of orchids, as is evidenced by a collection of between two and three thousand varieties. Some of these are remarkable for their curious and variegated leaves, others for the beauty and delicacy of the flowers. We were shown three kinds of pitcher plants; one kind is fashioned like a rat trap, the tiny spines pointing downward so that the insect can enter but can not escape until the flower withers; another drowns his victims in a syrup-like water; while a third poisons the unlucky prisoners lured into the recesses of the blossoms. Several plants growing on tree trunks have porous bulbs which seem to be designed for ant houses; at any rate the ants are always found in them. By an admirable reciprocity the ants pay their house rent by protecting the plants from other insects. Some of the European nations have defended their occupation of Oriental countries on the same theory, viz., that they give protection in exchange for a domicile, but there is no evidence that the ant lives on the plant, while colonialism is always a burden to the natives.

In the botanical garden, as elsewhere in the island, are to be found all varieties of the palm—the royal palm, than which there is no more ornamental tree, the cocoanut palm, with its myriad uses, the sugar palm, the sago palm, the oil palm, the betel-nut palm, which furnishes the Malay a substitute for chewing tobacco, the nipa palm, so helpful in building, the fan palm, etc., etc.

Nature has been prodigal in her gifts to the people of the tropics, and besides giving plant life in confusing abundance, her generosity is shown in a number of trees, each of which can be put to many uses. Reference was made to the bamboo in one of the articles on Japan, but the Javanese have not only the bamboo, but the palm as well, and from this one tree they could build their houses (though the bamboo is usually used for frames and floors because it is lighter, the trunk of the palm might be employed) and secure food, drink and light, and in addition, a fermented liquor and a narcotic.

The lakes and pools of the Buitenzorg garden teem with lotus and water lilies of many colors. One variety, brought from New Guinea, has blue flowers of various shades and is as yet unknown in Europe and America. One water lily has enormous flat, circular leaves with the edges turned up like a pie pan. Some of these leaves are four feet in diameter, and an imaginative writer has pictured them as frying pans on which the natives bake hot cakes.

The papyrus, from which the ancient Egyptians made their paper, grows here, though it is no longer found in Egypt. Here, too, are flowering trees and shrubs of many kinds, one whose pods are so exactly like tallow candles that it is called the candle tree. But it would occupy more space than I have at my disposal to give an adequate description of the beauties of the garden, with its mighty banyan trees, its waving palms, its graceful bamboos, its odorous sandalwood and tangled vines, its rose garden, its depth of shade and wealth of bloom, its upas tree (not deadly, however, as tradition has it, but quite innocent of any criminal intent), its winding ways and really moss-grown paths and its secluded little cemetery where rest those members of the families of the governors who died on the island. No wonder Buitenzorg is the Mecca of the botanist and the one spot never neglected by even the casual tourist in the island.

Java reminds one of Japan in the appearance of its rice fields, its cultivated hills and its terraced mountain sides. Though the island is diminutive in area, containing a little less than forty thousand square miles, half of which is tillable, the land is so wisely used that it supports a population of 28,000,000. With so many mountains and with a rainfall amounting to ten feet per annum in some places; the island has, as might be expected, an abundance of springs and running streams, and these make possible a very perfect system of irrigation which has converted Java into a vast garden. Sugar is the chief export, followed by tea, coffee and copra, although rice is the product to which most attention is given. It is the chief article of food, and so much is required to support the dense population that its importance as a crop is not indicated by its place in the table of exports.

As a traveler is more impressed by the unusual things than by the things with which he is familiar, one who visits Java immediately notices the numerous fruits peculiar to the island. They have here all of the fruits usually found in tropical countries and several that are not found elsewhere. The pineapple grows in perfection and can be bought in the market for about a cent apiece. The Java orange is not equal in taste or variety to those of California or Florida, but the banana, of which there are more than a hundred varieties, makes up for the deficiency. Mrs. Scidmore, in her book on Java, is authority for the statement that four thousand pounds of bananas will grow on the space required to produce ninety-nine pounds of potatoes or thirty-three pounds of wheat; if her calculation is correct and the ratio of productiveness anything like the same in the case of other fruit, one can understand why the problem of living is so simplified in warm countries. A fruit closely allied to our grape-fruit is found here, a variety of which grows in China and Japan. The papaya, which we first tasted in Honolulu, the mango, whose season had passed in the Philippines, the sour manila and the durian are all to be bought in the market here. The last named fruit has succeeded in arraying into ardent friends and unsparing critics the tourists who have ventured to eat it. Some declare that it is delicious, while others can not bear the taste, and all agree that the odor is exceedingly repulsive. It is rough-skinned, very large, sometimes weighing ten or fifteen pounds, and resembles in appearance both the bread fruit and the nangka.

Among the fruits which we have tasted for the first time the mangosteen and the rambutan are rivals in popularity. The first is a delicately flavored, orange-shaped morsel of pure white, encased in a thick hull of deep red. It melts in the mouth, and leaves a memory of mingled flavors. Its fame has spread abroad, and there was for years a standing offer of thirty pounds to anyone who would put Queen Victoria in possession of a ripe mangosteen, but it decays so quickly that not even ice will preserve it during a long sea voyage. The rambutan has not received as much praise as the mangosteen, but I am not sure but that it is superior for continuous use. The word rambutan means hairy, and the name was given to this fruit because it has a covering something like a chestnut burr, except that the so-called hairs are soft instead of spine-like. There is a variety of rambutan which has a smoother covering without the hair-like projections, and this is very appropriately called the kapoelassen (which means bald) rambutan. The usual color of the covering is a bright crimson, but there are several different shades, and the trees present a very attractive appearance when laden with ripe fruit. The pulp of the rambutan resembles a pigeon's egg in size and shape and contains a single seed. The flavor is half tart, half sweet, and recalls all the good things one has ever tasted.

Another Javanese fruit is the doekoe, which on the outside looks like an apricot, but is divided into sections like an orange and has a taste peculiarly its own. The jamboa, or Java apple, is conical in shape and has a white wax appearance. But enough has been said to indicate the variety of fruits exposed for sale on the street and peddled at railway stations. The natives usually carry an assortment of fruit as they go to or return from market, and the floor of the third-class railroad coaches are always littered with rinds and peelings. Verily, one can revel in fruit to his heart's content in Java.

One of the most interesting days that we spent in Java was devoted to a trip to Boro Boedoer, the great Hindu temple near Djokjakarta. Leaving the through train at this station with the jaw-breaking name, we went by tram line about twenty miles and then drove six miles farther. Near the temple the road crosses a ferry, the substantial bridge which once spanned the river there having been swept away, and when we reached this point we found the stream so swollen by recent rains that the natives were not willing to risk their boats in the angry flood. We returned to the tramway station and spent the night in the hospitable home of the Dutch stationmaster, the only white man in the town. Returning to the river early next morning we found that the waters had sufficiently subsided to enable us to cross, and we reached Boro Boedoer while yet the sun was low. And what a monument is Boro Boedoer to the zeal of the Buddhist priests, the skill of the Hindu architect and the patient industry of the Javanese! As a temple it is not surpassed, in labor expended upon its construction it is comparable with the pyramids, and in artistic skill displayed in design and execution, it is even superior to them.

According to archæologists, it was built about twelve hundred years ago when the Javanese were worshipers of Buddha, but the invasion of the Mohammedans of the fifteenth century was so complete that that stupendous pile was first neglected, then deserted and at last forgotten. It was so overgrown with trees and shrubbery that the Dutch traders were in the country for two centuries before its presence was discovered. When it was found and unearthed during the occupancy of the English under Sir Stamford Raffles in 1814, the people living in the vicinity were as much surprised as the foreigners, for all tradition of its existence had been lost. This seems hardly possible when it is remembered that the temple stands upon the summit of a mound, is five hundred feet square at the base and towers to the height of a hundred feet. The structure is pyramidal in form and rises in eight terraces, the first five being square and the last three circular. Each terrace has a wall at the outer edge, which with the wall of the next succeeding terrace forms a roofless gallery, either side of which is ornamented with bas reliefs descriptive of the life of Buddha. These carvings, if placed side by side, would, it is estimated, extend for three miles, and the story which they tell has been interpreted by eminent archæologists who have visited the place. These pictures in stone not only portray the rise and development of the great Indian teacher, but they preserve a record of the dress and customs of the people, the arms and implements used, and the fauna and flora of that time.

At the center of each side there is a covered stairway leading to the summit, and there is evidence that the galleries were once separated from each other by doors. In the niches along the gallery walls there are four hundred and thirty-two stone images of Buddha, life size and seated on the ever present lotus. On the three circular terraces there are seventy-two openwork, bell-shaped structures, called dagabas, each containing a stone image of Buddha. Surmounting the temple is a great dagaba fifty feet in diameter and in it was found an unfinished statue of Buddha similar to those found on the various galleries.

As the stone employed in the construction of the temple was of a hard variety the bas reliefs are well preserved. No mortar was used for cementing the stones and no columns or pillars were employed.

Besides Boro Boedoer there are hundreds of other temples scattered over the island. Within two miles of the elevation upon which the great temple stands there are two religious edifices—one a shrine of exquisite proportions, restored in 1904, and another a temple of considerable size now being restored. At Brambanan, about twenty miles east of Djokjakarta, there is a large group of temples scarcely less interesting than Boro Boedoer. One of the reports received by Sir Stamford Raffles describes this territory as the headquarters of Hinduism in Java and the temples as "stupendous and finished specimens of human labor and of the science and taste of ages long since forgot."

I must reserve for another article my observations upon the people and upon Dutch rule of the island and will conclude this paper with the suggestion that Java should be included in a tour of the world, whether undertaken for instruction or pleasure, for few sections of the earth have been so blessed by the Creator's bounty, so beautified by the skill of the husbandman, or are so rich in ruins.

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As the Dutch have administered in what they call Netherlands India, a colonial system quite different in its methods from the systems adopted by other nations, I have thought it worth while to make some inquiries concerning it.

The Malay archipelago, which might almost be described as a continent cut up into islands, has furnished a farm on which several nations have experimented in colonialism, but the Dutch, both in length of occupancy and in the number of people subjected to their rule, are easily first. The archipelago is more than four thousand miles long from east to west, and if the Philippine Islands are included, thirteen hundred miles wide. Some of the islands are larger than European states; Borneo and New Guinea each have an area greater than the British Isles. On the map the islands of the archipelago look like stepping stones connecting Asia with Australia, but some writers, arguing from the fauna and flora as well as from the depths of the surrounding waters, contend that the western islands are an extension of Asia and the eastern ones an extension of Australia. Alfred Russell Wallace, for instance, points out that the animals, birds and natural products of the two sections differ so much as to suggest that one group is much older than the other.

This archipelago is the home of one of the branches into which the human family is divided, viz., the Malay or brown race. These people are distinct in appearance, and in many of their characteristics, from the yellow and black races as well as from the white race. There are in some of the islands remnants of aboriginal tribes, but the Malays from time immemorial have furnished the prevailing type. They have shown themselves capable of continuous and systematic labor where they have been subjected to coercion, or where a sufficient inducement has been presented as a stimulus; but the depressing influence of a continuous summer, added to the bounty of the tropics, has naturally made them less industrious than those who live in the temperate zone. The clothing required by the Malay is insignificant in amount and value. The little children are bare and seem to enjoy a shower as much as ducks do. In Sourabaya, the second city in Java, we saw a group of them naked, sliding on their stomachs on a marble floor of an open porch during a heavy rain. This seemed a fairly satisfactory substitute for the ice ponds of the north.

The adults, both men and women, wear a sarong (except when the men content themselves with a breech cloth). The sarong, a simple strip of cloth, is draped about the figure with all the fullness in front and fastened in some mysterious way without the aid of buttons, hooks or pins. This garment, if garment it may be called, gives opportunity for the exercise of taste, and the range in price is sufficient to permit of some extravagance in dress. The best native sarongs are more expensive than silk, the cloth being overlaid with wax, upon which the pattern is traced, and the dyes applied by hand. The masses use a cheap cotton print manufactured in Europe. One of the striking peculiarities of Javanese life is the adoption of the sarong by the European women for morning wear. Ladies who appear at dinner in full evening dress may be seen on the balconies and streets in the morning hours clad in loose hanging sarongs and thin dressing sacques, their bare feet encased in sandals. On the Dutch boat upon which we left Batavia we saw posted notices designating the hours during which the sarong could be worn, and giving permission to men to wear a pajama-like outfit during the same hours.

The Malay women wear no hats, but the men usually wear a turban, the tying of which is a great perplexity to the foreigner.

The natives of the Malay Islands appear to be a mild mannered and peaceful people, although fighting tribes have been encountered in the mountain regions, the suppression of which has cost the Dutch many lives and a large outlay of florins. In Sumatra there are sections that have never been subdued.

The Chinaman is to be found throughout the archipelago; in fact, he far outstrips all other foreign elements. The population of Java is given as 28,747,000 in the government statistics, and of this total 277,000 are Chinese. The number of Europeans is given as 62,477, and the number of Arabs at 18,000, while a little more than three thousand come from other Asiatic countries. I was informed that the 62,000 described as Europeans included the half castes who number more than 40,000, the number of real Europeans being about 20,000. In the other islands controlled by Holland, the population is given at a little more than five and a half millions, and the number of Chinese at 260,000, while the European population is estimated at 13,000, the Arabs at 9,000, and other Asiatics at 13,000. It will be seen from these figures that the Chinese form the chief foreign ingredient in Netherlands India, as they do in Borneo and the Straits Settlements. In Java, where we had a chance to observe them, we found that the Chinese monopolized the mercantile business except where they were compelled to share it with Arabs and Indians. We also heard of them as money lenders, the rate of interest being generally usurious. It may be said to their credit, however, that as Shylocks the Arabs can surpass them. The superiority of the Arab in this respect has given rise to the saying among the natives that the Chinaman leaves a native with nothing but a sarong while an Arab strips him bare. Many Chinamen have grown rich and have permanently identified themselves with the country, and of these some have discarded the queue entirely while others have retained it in a diminutive form, a little wisp of hair lengthened out with silk thread and growing from a spot not much larger than a dollar.

Apropos of the Chinese agitation against our exclusion act, it is interesting to know that the Chinese born in Java presented a petition to the governor general a few years ago asking for the restriction of the further immigration of Chinese coolies. The petition was not granted, but the leader of the movement so aroused the wrath of the coolies that they called upon him in a body and pelted his house with mud.

In all of the Malay states the opium vice is turned to account by the rulers. In some places the sale of opium is a government monopoly, while in others it is farmed out to the highest bidder. In North Borneo there is a district called Sarawak owned and ruled by an Englishman who is known as Rajah Brooke. When we were passing through Singapore, I noticed in a morning paper an advertisement wherein the Sarawak government asked for bids for a three years' lease of the "opium farm," "gambling farm," and "arrack farm" (arrack is the native name for an intoxicating liquor). In all of the archipelago the vices of the people seem to be as remunerative to the government as their virtues, and I was reminded of the Chinese official at Pekin who jokingly informed me that he had a selfish reason for opposing the boycott of American goods, because it would deprive him of American cigarettes, of which he was very fond.

The Dutch traders followed the Portuguese into the East Indies, and in time supplanted them. Holland then chartered the East India Trading Company and Amsterdam became the spice center from which all Europe drew its supplies. The Dutch Trading Company was manned by a thrifty crew, and it was not long before they conceived of monopolizing the world's spice market, and they accomplished this by destroying groves and prohibiting competition by treaty with the natives. They are also charged with destroying spice by the ton in Amsterdam in order to maintain the price. One apologist for this almost universally condemned practice of the Dutch, says:

"When the Dutch established their influence in these seas and relieved the native princes from their Portuguese oppressors, they saw that the easiest way to repay themselves would be to get this spice trade into their own hands. For this purpose they adopted the wise principle of concentrating the culture of these valuable products in those spots of which they could have complete control. To do this effectually, it was necessary to abolish the culture and trade in all other places, which they succeeded in doing by treaty with the native rulers. These agreed to have all the spice trees in their possessions destroyed. They gave up large, though fluctuating, revenues, but they gained in return a fixed subsidy, freedom from the constant attacks and harsh oppression of the Portuguese, and a continuance of their regal power and exclusive authority over their own subjects, which has maintained in all the islands except Ternate to this day. It is no doubt supposed by most Englishmen, who have been accustomed to look upon this act of the Dutch with vague horror, as something utterly unprincipled and barbarous, that the native population suffered grievously by this destruction of such valuable property. But it is certain that this is not the case."

He then proceeds to charge that the native sultans had a "rigid monopoly" of the spice trade before the Dutch arrived, and that the latter by prohibiting the cultivation of spices left the natives more time for the production of food and other salable things, and concludes: "I believe, therefore, that this abolition of the spice trade in the Moluccas was actually beneficial to the inhabitants, and that it was an act both wise in itself and morally and politically justifiable."

It will be noticed that in a very brief space he employs the arguments mainly relied upon to support monopoly wherever it has appeared, and also for colonialism in its worst forms. In the first place, the Dutch had to "repay themselves" for having "relieved the native princes from their Portuguese oppressors"—that is, they had to collect pay for their philanthropy; second, as the sultans were doing the same thing, the Dutch might as well do it—that is, the very familiar argument, "If we don't do it, somebody else will;" and third, it was a good thing for the natives—it is never difficult to prove this to the man who profits by the system. But nothing is said as to the effect of the monopoly upon consumers of spices throughout the world. It does not seem to occur to the writer above quoted (Wallace) that they are to be considered. The view point from which he looks at the whole matter can be judged from his admonition to the British that they must not be too much "afraid of the cry of despotism and slavery" if they are to improve their "rude subjects" and raise them up toward their own level.

At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the Dutch East India Company became involved and turned its possessions over to the crown of Holland, since which time Netherlands India has been a crown colony. There was a brief interim of British rule (1811 to 1816), but at the close of the Napoleonic wars the Dutch regained their possessions by treaty, and the English congratulated themselves that they had been relieved of a burden.

The Dutch have governed Java through the natives, a resident acting as "elder brother" to the Javanese ruler. While the native government has not been disturbed, and while the native ruler is protected from rival claimants, he is really a prisoner in his own castle, and can not leave the premises without permission. However, as these native rulers receive good salaries and are allowed to exact homage from their subjects, they seem quite content with their lot, and the people, naturally docile, yield obedience to the chiefs of their own race.

The culture system, aside from the indirect method of ruling, is the distinguishing feature of Dutch colonialism as it existed until recent years. The East India Company followed the practice of the native princes and collected a land tax or rent of one-fifth the crop, and required in addition the labor of all able-bodied males for one day in five. During the five years of British rule, forced labor was abolished and a land tax substituted for the one-fifth rent, while a separate property system was encouraged. As soon as the Dutch resumed control, they went back to their old régime except that they demanded one day's labor in seven instead of one day in five. By regulating the crops to be planted, by collecting the fifth of the produce of the land and by compelling the peasants to plant one-fifth of the village land in crops to be sold to the government at a fixed price far below the market price, the government of Holland derived large revenues from its India possessions. It has been estimated that in fifty years a sum exceeding three hundred million dollars was exacted from the natives in forced labor and in the sale of produce below the market price. As might be expected, the greed which manifested itself in the conduct of the government aroused increasing criticism, and the authorities were at last compelled to change their methods.

Those who travel through Java are unanimous in their praise of the beautiful roads and the substantial bridges that span the streams: they admire the commodious plantation homes, the splendid tea and coffee farms and the well built and well kept cities, and they are inclined to excuse the means employed by the foreigners in the development of the islands. It must be remembered, however, that the rice fields, which are most attractive, existed before the Europeans set foot upon the soil and that the spices, instead of being introduced by the Dutch, were the products which first attracted their attention. The Dutch have charged a high price for the services rendered, and have given little attention to the intellectual and moral improvement of the people. Being surprised that the Javanese had a well developed system of agriculture and irrigation before the Europeans arrived, I asked an intelligent Hollander: "What, then, have the Dutch taught the Javanese?" and he replied laughingly, "We have taught them to pay us their money."

The fact that the culture system has, after full discussion, been abandoned is a sufficient condemnation of it, and the fact that reforms are being introduced is a confession that they were needed. I had the pleasure of meeting the present governor, General Van Heutsz, and found him interested in enlarging the educational system, and in lightening the burdens upon the people. He has already reduced the labor requirement one half, so that the natives now give one day in fourteen to the government instead of one day in seven.

The governor of Netherlands India receives the same salary as our president, and the resident receives a salary which, including allowances, amounts to nearly ten thousand dollars. The expenses of the colonial government are paid by the natives and by the foreigners residing there, but the government of Holland no longer draws an income from the islands. Her advantages are at present indirect ones and consist, first of profits earned by her citizens in trade with the islands; second, of rents collected by her citizens from plantations; and third, of salaries drawn by her citizens for civil or military service in the islands.

Formerly land was sold to foreigners, but for a great many years it has been the policy of the government to sell no land whatever to either Europeans or Asiatics, but to lease it for seventy-five years or less. I was surprised to find that the natives own considerably more than twice as much as foreigners hold under lease or deed, and that land, the product of which must be sold to the government at a fixed price, has been reduced to 300,000 acres.

One of the beneficent reforms about to be inaugurated is the establishment of government pawnshops, which will loan money to the people at a low rate of interest, and thus rescue them from the extortion which has been practiced upon them. The government has already established savings banks in which the deposits are constantly increasing.

There is a growing demand in Java for a greater recognition of the people in government, and this demand is being yielded to in the cities. The colonial authorities have encouraged the soldiers to marry native women, these marriages terminating when the soldiers return to Europe. As a result, there is a half caste element which has been given better educational advantages than are accorded to the natives. This element considers itself as native, although counted in the census as European, and is already organizing with a view of securing more civil liberty.

Whatever may be said of Dutch colonialism in the past, a new era is dawning, and the present rulers recognize that their administration must be measured by the improvement in the people rather than by the profits drained from the land by Europeans.

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In a tour around the world one travels by steamer about six thousand miles through the tropics. Entering the torrid zone soon after leaving Hong Kong, almost touching the equator at Singapore, and not entering the temperate zone again until he is nearly half way through the Red Sea, he has ample time to study the temperature; and our opportunities were still farther enlarged by the trip to Java, which carried us nearly eight degrees below the equator. While on the water the heat is not so noticeable, being relieved by the ocean breezes, on land one suffers during the middle of the day. It is not that the heat in the shade is greater than the summer heat in the United States, but one can not always be in the shade, and the rays of the sun are piercing to a degree which is inconceivable to one without experience in these latitudes. At the seaports, too, the heat is intensified by the weight and moisture of the air, and the temperature is practically the same the year round—at least one who visits this part of the world in the winter time can not imagine it worse.

While, the native population work barebacked, barelegged, barefooted, and sometimes bareheaded, Americans and Europeans resort to every possible device to protect them from the climate.

The white helmet, with a lining of cork, is the most common headwear for both men and women, and it does not require a very long stay here to convince one that it is superior to the straw hat. White clothes which reflect the rays of the sun are also largely worn by both sexes. For evening dress, men sometimes wear a close-fitting white jacket, reaching to the waist, and before breakfast they lounge about in pajamas of variegated colors.

Eating extends through the entire day. Tea or coffee can be had from five to eight; breakfast is ready at eight or nine and ends at twelve; lunch or tiffin as it is called here, occupies the hours from one to three; then tea follows at four, and dinner is served from eight to ten-thirty. These are the hours for Europeans and Americans, and for those natives who have adopted foreign ways, but most of the natives look as if they had missed some of these meals.

We are among the dark-skinned races here. Chinamen are a darker yellow than those seen farther north, the Malays are a dark brown and Tamils are quite black, while the Singalese and Indians are between a black and brown. Mark Twain pays a high compliment to these dark-skinned people at the expense of the white races, contending that their complexion is always good, while the white face has freckles, pimples and moles to mar it.

There are two great seaports near the equator which every traveler visits, viz.: Singapore and Colombo, and most of the boats also stop at Penang, a thriving city on the Malay peninsula, some four hundred miles north of Singapore. Singapore is on a small island of the same name not far from the mainland, and its harbor is full of sea-going vessels of all nations. The ships from Europe to China and Japan call here, as do also the boats between Europe and Java and between India and Australia. Here, too, are to be found representatives of many nationalities, twenty-nine distinct languages being spoken in this one city. The Portuguese were the pioneers, and there are still some descendants of the early traders living on the island. Next in point of time came the Dutch, and their nation is still more numerously represented among the business firms. England, however, though a later arrival, has largely supplanted both in the control of the commerce of the port, though the Germans seem to be numerous.

Singapore and Penang are the great export ports for tin, three-fourths of the world's output for that product being mined near by. The United States takes ten and a half million dollars of tin from the Straits Settlements and six millions of other products and sells only $1,161,000 worth in return.

I might add in this connection that the trade possibilities of the tropics have been very much overestimated by enthusiastic expansionists. The natives raise their own food at a much lower cost than we could possibly sell it to them, even if our food were suited to their wants. They do not need our building material, and as for clothing, one American is worth more as a customer than a hundred of these natives. While a few wear rich robes, the mass content themselves with a very scanty costume of very cheap cotton—a costume which someone has described as "a handkerchief around the loins and a table cloth around the head." No shoe manufacturer need send a salesman to these parts, for even the coachman and footmen in livery are barefooted. I once supposed that we might work up a trade in breech clouts and fishing rods, but I find the latter grow here in profusion, and the former are not valuable enough to furnish a basis for much trade.

There is one branch of commerce that might be developed if this were not the home of the gem and if the natives were not skillful goldsmiths. Jewelry is the passion here. Women fairly load themselves down with ornaments when they can afford it. They wear rings on the fingers and toes, bracelets and anklets, ear ornaments galore and, strangest of all, jewels in the nose. We noticed one woman yesterday with three enormous pendants hanging from each ear, one from the top, one from the side and one from the lobe, and our coachman at Kandy was resplendent with six in either ear, but his jewelry was more modest in size. The nose ornaments look like shirt studs and are screwed into one or both nostrils; sometimes a ring hangs from the point of the nose. The necklaces vary greatly in style, workmanship and value. The island of Ceylon is rich in gems and furnishes a variety of stones for the jeweler's art. From the fact that nearly all of the precious stones mentioned in the Bible are to be found here it is thought that Ceylon must have been known to the Israelites and that her ships carried wealth to Solomon.

After seeing the extravagant use of jewelry here, one is almost tempted to forgive even the most vulgar display of precious stones made in the Occident; and then, too, the rubies, sapphires, the diamonds, the emeralds, the amethysts, the alexanderites, the cat's eyes, the opals, etc., exhibited in the stores here are so beautiful that one must be proof against vanity to resist their charms.

Ice might have formed an important item of trade, for nowhere does the white man appreciate this luxury more, had not the ice machine made importation unnecessary. The larger boats now manufacture their own ice from condensed sea water, and there are plants at all the important ports. We went from Borneo to Singapore on a ship which was not equipped with an ice machine, and we complained when the supply gave out. An English passenger took advantage of our distress to compare national characteristics, and humorously remarked that when the Americans moved into a new territory, they at once established an ice plant, while the English gave their first attention to the laying out of cricket grounds.

One does not travel far in the Orient until he becomes a crank on the subject of water. He receives so many warnings that he soon suspects that disease lurks in every glassful. If he tries the bottled waters, they pall on the taste, and if he relies on boiled water he is tormented with fear that it has not really been boiled or that some other water has been accidentally substituted. "The Old Oaken Bucket" is recalled as a vision of delight, and "the well at home" is remembered with an admiration never felt before (faucet may be substituted for well by those who live in a city).

Colombo is situated on the island of Ceylon just below the southernmost point of the mainland of India. Here, too, is a commodious harbor visited by all merchant fleets. It vies with Singapore as an equatorial port. The "spicy breezes" of Ceylon are immortalized in song and story—it is the land

At Kandy, about seventy-five miles from the coast, there is an excellent botanical garden rivaling the garden at Buitenzorg, even as Kandy itself rivals Buitenzorg as a summer resort. (There are extensive gardens at Singapore and Penang, but they are inferior to those in Ceylon and Java.) These gardens are about equally distant from the equator; the former north, the latter south, but the garden at Kandy has twice the altitude of the other. We were interested in comparing the plants and examining the new specimens. While Buitenzorg is superior in her collection of orchids the ferns at Kandy surpass anything we have seen. Here the yellow bamboo is added to the varieties seen elsewhere; here, too, we saw the screw palm, whose leaves form a spiral line like the thread of a screw. Another curious variety is the sealing wax palm, the higher joints of which look exactly like red sealing wax. The travelers' palm, which we also saw in Java, is to be found here, its name being derived from the fact that each leaf stem catches and holds sufficient water to slake a traveler's thirst. The talipot palm attracts the attention of all visitors, not only because its leaves formed the parchment for the early books of Buddhism, but because it flowers but once, and then, as if exhausted by its half century's effort, dies. The sensitive plant grows wild here and seems almost human in its perception, as it shrinks from the slightest touch and folds its leaves as if withered.

I have already spoken of the fruits of the tropics, especially those of Java, but I think I ought to qualify my words. Since reveling in mangosteens, rambutans, etc., I have eaten an apple and am convinced that no tropical fruit can compare with it; and when to the apple are added the peach, the pear, the plum and the cherry, and to these fruits of the trees are added the grape, the strawberry, the raspberry and the blackberry, not to speak of the pineapples, oranges and bananas of our southern states, who will say that the temperate zone is not as highly favored as the warmer lands?

We not only have an abundance of both the necessaries and the luxuries, but we escape some of the torments of the tropics. Animals, reptiles and insects run riot here. The tiger is "man-eating," the serpents are large and poisonous and the insects are omnipresent. We sometimes complain at home of the mosquito, which seems to be a universal pest, and found everywhere, "from Greenland's icy mountains to India's coral strands," but here its activity is perennial and its appetite reaches its maximum. In all the hotels the beds are protected by mosquito bars, for without them sleep would be impossible. The ant is even more annoying than the mosquito, for while the former does most of its prowling at night, the latter "improves each shining hour." If the natives play the sluggard, it is because they refuse to profit by the example of industry which the ant ever presents to them. It is not uncommon for the legs of dining tables and cupboards to be set in bowls of water as a protection from these insects, and where this precaution is not taken the diner divides his time between eating and fighting ants. The white ant has a literary turn of mind and pays especial attention to books. We have heard of several libraries being ravaged by this insect, the leaves being so perforated that the books looked like honeycombs. In his search for knowledge the ant has the companionship of the cockroach, which grows here to the length of two or three inches, can fly, and stains what it can not devour. The house lizard is always in evidence. One evening we counted twenty-four of these interesting little reptiles in sight at one time on our porch. At night lizards in the trees call hoarsely to each other, and when it rains the air is vocal with the croaking of frogs and the singing of insects.

In the Botanical Garden at Kandy we saw hundreds of flying foxes, which look like buzzards. Some of these flying foxes measure four feet from tip to tip.

I find that there is a disease in these latitudes called tropical frenzy—an uncontrollable anger which sometimes manifests itself when European officials deal with native subjects. This has been seriously discussed in medical meetings, and it has been argued that acts of violence on the part of officials should be excused on this ground. The subject has been scientifically considered at a meeting of German physicians. This disease seems to be confined to Europeans, the natives being immune from it—at least, it is not considered a good defense when urged by a native as an excuse for doing violence to a European.

My experience with the money changers of the Orient has made the money changers of America seem virtuous by comparison. This is the worst place for shaving, for discounts, for premiums, for commissions and for exchange that I have visited. In traveling, one has frequently to change money from the currency of one nation to that of another, and as there seems to be no fixed rate, he never knows what he is going to realize. (By the way, one who thinks that a gold dollar is good the world around can learn something from the discounts.) At Colombo I had some Singapore bills converted into rupees. The cashier at the hotel said that the rate was one-twenty, and gave me twelve rupees for ten dollars. A few minutes afterwards I had occasion to buy some tickets of a tourist agent and he allowed me fifteen rupees for ten dollars; the next time I made change I received sixteen rupees and seventy cents for ten. This is a sample of the experience one has here. At Singapore I drew some money on my letter of credit which calls for pounds; as I was going into English territory, I thought it would be convenient to carry some five pound notes, but the bank insisted on converting the pounds into Singapore dollars at eight-forty-five, and then offered to sell me five pound notes at the rate of eight-seventy. When I related the incident to an Englishman, he recalled an instance where a man presented a two hundred pound note and asked for smaller bills; the bank charged him a commission for converting the larger bills into rupees and then another commission for converting the rupees into five pound notes.

I found in China that the notes issued by a bank in one city would be discounted when presented at a branch of the same bank in another city. Throughout the Malay states the Chinese are conspicuous as money lenders, but at Singapore they come into competition with the Indians, who are their superior in this line of business. At Colombo we saw no Chinese at all.

We have found the American missionary everywhere, but his work among the Malays is less promising than anywhere else. Missionary work has been quite successful among the Chinese in the Malay archipelago and among the Tamils at Singapore, but nearly all the Malays are Mohammedans, and while they believe in one God and recognize Christ as a great prophet, they believe the author of their religion to have been a superior teacher.

In traveling, one has an opportunity to study human nature in all its phases, and in an extended trip meets representatives of all the nations. The North German Lloyd has a line running from Yokohama to Bremen. (This line, I may add, makes it possible for one to go from San Francisco to New York within two months, with but two changes of boat, and still stop long enough at the principal ports to learn something of the cities and the people.) We went from Singapore to Colombo on one of the boats of this line. Besides a few Americans, Germans and Hollanders, and a still larger number of English, there were several Japanese en route for Europe, and Russian officers and soldiers returning from Japan. We made some agreeable acquaintances among the company, as it is possible to do on every voyage, but just before leaving the boat at Colombo we came into contact with a tourist who belonged to the genus hog. Our boat arrived between eight and nine in the evening, and the porters informed us that the hotels were full, but that we could obtain rooms in the morning, as a number would leave on our ship. I stated the case to the captain, and he assured me that we were welcome to remain on board until morning. Just as my wife and daughter were retiring, a man came on board, followed by a lot of baggage, and directed his porter to put it in our room. I explained to him that not being able to find accommodations on shore, we had obtained permission to occupy the room until morning, but he brusquely replied that he had engaged the room two months before and must have it. I called his attention to the fact that the boat was late in reaching port and would not leave until nearly noon the next day, and suggested as politely as I could that the captain was the proper person to decide whether he was entitled to claim the room under the circumstances. Without consulting the captain he went to the steward and demanded that the ladies be moved to another room, although another room was placed at his disposal for the night. It required some plain, straightforward and emphatic language to bring him to the point where he was willing to occupy a different room temporarily, and I am afraid that he still regards Americans as very rude and uncouth creatures. He is, however, the first man whom I have met so far who would claim as a right that to which he was not entitled, and then demand the enforcement of the assumed right without regard to the convenience of others.

On the last mentioned trip we witnessed a burial at sea, the first that has occurred during our voyage. One of the passengers died after we left Singapore, and we learned of it while the funeral services were in progress. The corpse was enclosed in a black (weighted) coffin in which several holes were bored. The ship slackened its speed, and as the band played a funeral dirge, the body was slowly lowered. Upon reaching the water it floated back for a short distance and then disappeared. It was a sad sight to see the remains of a human being consigned to a watery tomb with nothing to mark its resting place; and yet he does not sleep alone, for in this mighty ocean sepulcher myriads lie buried and the waves moan above them a requiem as sweet as that sung by the trees to those who rest upon the land.

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Burma is another country which was added to our list after leaving home, but as its people are quite distinct from the inhabitants of India and as it is one of the strongholds of Buddhism, we turned aside to visit it en route from Ceylon to Calcutta. On the map it occupies a part of the east side of the first of the three great peninsulas that stretch down from Asia to the Indian ocean and is separated from India proper by the Bay of Bengal. Its principal stream is the Irawaddy, famed in story for the magnificent scenery along its course and for the fertile valley through which it passes on its way to the sea.

Rangoon, the seaport of Burma, is situated some twenty miles inland upon a river of the same name, and has a harbor quite different from those at Singapore and Colombo. At those places the passengers on the incoming and outgoing steamers amuse themselves by tossing silver coins into the transparent waters and watching the divers catch them before they can reach the bottom, but at Rangoon the water is so muddy that a diver would have difficulty in finding an electric light. The depth of the water, too, is insufficient except when the tide is high. But the city of Rangoon is substantially built and has a number of fine business blocks and excellent public buildings. A municipal hospital now in course of construction surpasses anything which we have seen in the East. The park system at Rangoon is very attractive, and one sees the well-to-do element of the city fully represented there in the early evening. The roads about Rangoon are good, but not equal to those of Ceylon and Java. I have already spoken of the Java roads, and those of Ceylon are not behind them. No one can see these well graded, well drained and beautifully shaded highways without having his interest in good roads quickened.

At Rangoon we saw the elephants at work in a lumber yard, but they do not attract anything like the attention from the natives that "Jumbo" and the "Baby Elephant" did in the United States during my boyhood days. It is not necessary here for the head of the family to take his wife and all the children to the circus in order that the younger members of the family may catch a glimpse of one of these ungainly beasts. In Burma the elephant is simply an everyday beast of burden and earns his food as faithfully as the horse or the ox. We saw three at work in the lumber yard which we visited, the oldest of which is more than threescore and ten years, and has labored industriously for more than fifty years. A native rides upon his back and directs him by word, sometimes emphasized by an iron pointed stick, and the huge fellow lifts, pushes and twists the logs about with almost human intelligence. The elephant has an eye for neatness, and one would hardly believe from hearsay with what regularity and carefulness he works, moving from one end of the log to the other until it is in exactly the right place. In lifting he uses his tusks, kneeling when his work requires it. In carrying large blocks of wood he uses both tusks and trunk. Sometimes the elephant pushes a heavy log along the ground with one of his forefeet, walking on the other three, but generally the logs are drawn by a chain attached to a broad breast strap. An eighteen-year-old elephant, working in the same yard, was thus drawing heavy timbers and went about his work uncomplainingly so long as he was permitted to draw one at a time, but when two of these timbers were fastened together, he raised his voice in a pathetic lament which grew more touching when he received a pointed suggestion from his driver. These trumpetings were really terrifying to a stranger, but did not seem to alarm the Burmese. The ears of the old elephant showed signs of age; in fact, they were thin and frayed with flapping and looked like drooping begonia leaves.

The elephants which we saw weighed about two tons each, and consumed about 800 pounds of feed per day. When I was informed that an elephant ate regularly one-fifth of his own weight per day, I could understand better than ever before what it means to "have an elephant on one's hands." The fact that they can be profitably used in business shows their capacity for work. The old song that credits the elephant with eating all night as well as all day is founded on fact, for the animal requires but two hours' sleep out of twenty-four, and when not otherwise employed, he puts in his time eating.

The elephant, notwithstanding his huge bulk and massive strength, is a very timid animal, and can be put to flight by a dog or even a rat. A short time ago a drove of Rangoon elephants was stampeded by an automobile, and it is well known the shipping of an elephant is a difficult task. The elephant has a small hole resembling a knife cut, on the side of the head, and at times a watery fluid is discharged therefrom. For some reason, apparently unknown, the animal is subject to frenzy during the period of this discharge and must be kept in confinement.

Mandalay, the second city of Burma, is 386 miles north of Rangoon, by rail, and is situated on the Irawaddy river. Kipling, in his poem, declares that "the flying fishes play," "on the road to Mandalay," but he has been guilty of using poetic license. The captain of one of the steamers warned us in advance that no flying fish would be seen on the river, and one Englishman went so far as to say that the poet had never been in Mandalay. We planned to take a ride up the river, but our purpose was thwarted by a sandbar which detained our boat from noon until the next morning, so that our view of the river while very thorough at that point, was not very extensive. Most tourists go to Mandalay by train and return as far as Prome by boat, but the scenery is finer in the defiles above Mandalay.

In going by land from Rangoon to Mandalay one sees nothing but rice, but this is piled along the road in seemingly inexhaustible quantities. One is reminded of the wheat and corn states of our own country as he sees the piles of sacks and loose grain awaiting shipment. While there are other industries in Burma, the rice fields and the piles of teak wood are most in evidence. In northern Burma there are some rich ruby mines and the jewelry stores are as fascinating as those of Ceylon.

The gongs of Mandalay are famous throughout the world for richness of tone, and carving in ivory, teak and sandalwood gives employment to many artisans. Elephants and images of Buddha in wood, brass and alabaster are exposed for sale in all the shops, and the silks are delicate in texture and beautiful in color and design.

The Burmese have a large mixture of Chinese blood, as is shown by their features and traits of character, but they are darker in color. They are a cheerful and docile people, and their women have never been the victims of seclusion that burdens the life of the women of India. Both men and women wear gay colors, which lends picturesqueness to the scenes of the street. In China and Japan we were amused at the small pipes used by the men. In Burma one is amazed at the enormous cigarettes—six inches long and an inch thick—which the women smoke.

In Burma, as in other Oriental countries, the streams are the wash-tubs of the nation, and a flat stone takes the place of a washboard. It was wash day on the Irawaddy when we started out on our boat ride, and the bank of the river looked like a flower bed, so bright and varied were the colors of the turbans and dresses of the long row of washers swinging the clothes high above their heads and beating them upon the stones.

Burma is the home of the pagoda; one is never out of sight of them, but they differ in shape from those seen in China and Japan. The Burmese pagoda is usually circular, though sometimes octagonal. The largest of these is known as the Shwe Dagon Pagoda at Rangoon. It is a solidly built pyramidal cone, with gradually diminishing outline and is surmounted by a ti or "umbrella" spire of concentric iron rings from which hang little bells which tinkle when moved by the breeze. This pagoda has a circumference of 1,355 feet at the base, rises to a height of 370 feet, and stands upon a terraced mound which is itself 160 feet above the level of the country around. The upper part of the pagoda is gilded, and its base is surrounded by many elaborate shrines containing images of Buddha. Here the faithful offer their devotions during the day and evening, and the vendors of candles, incense and flowers do a thriving business. Here, also assemble the lame, the halt and the blind, to gather their penny tribute from the passersby.

Mandalay is still more liberally supplied with pagodas. At the largest, the Aracan, one sees repeated the scenes of the Shwe Dagon, only the beggars seem more numerous. At this pagoda there is a filthy pool in which live a number of sacred turtles, and they must have charmed lives to live at all in so foul a place. They rise to the surface when food is thrown into the water, but they are so slow in their movements that the kites which hover about the place generally snatch up the morsels before the turtles reach them.

Far more beautiful than the Aracan Pagoda is the group known as the Four Hundred and Fifty. This remarkable group, which actually numbers 729, stands at the foot of Mandalay Hill and was built by an uncle of King Thebaw. In the center of the group is the usual pagoda, and around it in parallel, rectangular rows are small square pagodas, each terminating in a graceful tower and containing a slab inscribed on both sides. These slabs together contain all the writings of Buddha, and the smaller pagodas viewed from the center one, present an imposing spectacle. These pagodas are well kept, and all the buildings are snowy white. I emphasize the fact that these are in good repair, because so many of the Buddhist pagodas and monasteries are in a state of decay. Whether this is due to decrease in the zeal of the followers of Buddha or to the fact that the Burmese king, Thebaw, has for more than twenty years been a political prisoner on the west coast of India, I do not know. A writer for one of the Rangoon newspapers naively describes the annexation of Burma by the English as "necessary" and this "necessity" has deprived the Buddhist buildings of the governmental patronage which they formerly enjoyed.

About six miles above Mandalay, near the Irawaddy, stands the foundation of a pagoda which its builder intended should be the largest in the world. It was begun by King Bodopaya in 1790, after an unsuccessful campaign against Siam. In his disappointment his mind turned to religion, and he hoped to "acquire merit," as the Buddhists say, by the erection of this temple. The structure begins with four galleries; the first is five hundred feet square; and each succeeding one is a little higher by fifty feet less in diameter. Then the base of the pagoda proper, about two hundred and fifty feet square, rises to a height of one hundred and sixty feet. The entire building, as planned, would have reached to a height of five hundred feet, but the labor expended had become so great that the people complained and he was compelled to abandon the enterprise. He was warned by the experience of a former king whose extravagance gave rise to the proverb, "The pagoda is finished and the country is ruined." King Bodopaya is not the only "captain of industry" who has attempted to "acquire merit" by constructing monumental buildings with the labor of others, but he was not so successful as some of our trust magnates have been.

To match this great pagoda a bell was cast weighing ninety tons, said to be the largest sound bell in the world. The great bell of Moscow is larger, but is cracked. The Mingoon bell, as this one near Mandalay is called, is eighteen feet in diameter at the base, nine feet at the top and thirty-one feet in height to the top of the shackle. It was formerly supported on immense teak wood beams, but the foundation of one of these gave away and for years one side of the bell rested on the ground. Lord Curzon, while viceroy of India, caused the bell to be suspended from iron beams and put a roof over it.

The Buddhist priests seem to have made Mandalay their Mecca, for of the fifty-seven thousand in Burma, more than seven thousand reside there. The Buddhist priesthood is the greatest mendicant order in the world, the members of it being pledged to live by begging. Having occasion to ride out early one morning we saw a hundred or more bareheaded, barefooted, their only garb a yellow robe, carrying their rice bowls from door to door. They can not ask for food by word of mouth; they simply hold out the bowl and if food is denied, they move silently to another house. They are permitted to own no property except a robe, a bowl, a leather mat, a razor, a needle, a fan and a filter-cup. They must live under a tree unless someone furnishes them a house and must live on roots and herbs unless better food is given them. They have no parishes or congregations, but are expected to spend their lives in meditation, free from all worldly cares, except when engaged in expounding Buddhistic writing or in teaching the young. They live, as a rule, in monasteries, built for them by pious Buddhists, and from what we saw of these buildings no one would accuse them of being surrounded by luxury. These monasteries rest upon posts some distance above the ground, and each room has an outside door about large enough for one to enter upon his hands and knees.

I visited one of these monasteries at Rangoon in company with a native Christian whose father was half Chinese. To my surprise the first priest whom I met was an Englishman who turned Buddhist five years ago and donned the yellow robe. While I waited for the native priest to whom I had a letter, this Englishman gave me something of his history and a brief defense of his new faith. He came from London six years ago as a ship carpenter and a year after adopted Buddhism, which, he explained to me, does not require one to believe anything. While his parents were members of the Church of England, he had never connected himself with any church, and, being an agnostic, the doctrines of Buddha appealed to him. He described his adopted religion as one of works rather than faith, and declared that the slums of Christendom had no counterpart in Burma. The visitor, however, sees everywhere poverty and squalor which can only be paralleled in the most destitute portions of our great cities, and nowhere the comfort and refinement which are general in the United States.

Buddhism is reformed Hinduism and in its teachings presents a higher system of ethics than the religion from which it sprung. Gautama, called the Buddha or the Enlightened, was born between five and six hundred years before Christ, and was of the Brahmin caste. Not satisfied with the teachings of the Hindu philosopher concerning life, he went into seclusion at the age of twenty-nine and devoted himself to meditation. Six years later he announced his doctrine, destined to impress so profoundly the thought of the Orient. Accepting the Hindu theory that the soul passes from person to person, and even from the human being to the animal and back, he offered Nirvana as a final release from this tiresome and endless change. Nirvana, a state of unconsciousness which follows the absorption of the individual soul in the soul of the universe. This was the end to be sought, and no wonder it came as a relief to those whose philosophy taught the perpetual transition of the soul through man and beast and bird and reptile. The means of reaching Nirvana was through the renunciation of self. Life he conceived to be prolonged misery, infinitely drawn out, and love of self he declared to be the root of all evil. So long as one loves life, he argued, he can not escape from the bondage of existence. In the entire elimination of self by the relinquishment of a desire for a separate existence here or hereafter—in this alone could he find a path to Nirvana.

The next forty-five years of his life he spent in expounding and elaborating his doctrines, in formulating rules and in perfecting the details of his system. Many of his precepts are admirable. For instance, he divides progress toward the blissful state into three stages. In the first, he puts those who abstain from evil from fear of punishment; these he commends, though he considers the motive comparatively low. In the second stage are those who, passing from negative harmlessness to helpfulness, do good from hope of reward; these he praises as acting from a higher motive than the first. In the third state the seeker after Nirvana does good, not for hope of reward, but for the sake of love alone. The last gift love has to give, is to give up love of life itself and pass from further change to changeless changelessness.

At one time Buddhism spread over India and promised the conquest of all Asia. Two hundred years after the Buddhist's death a great king, Asoka, sent out eighty-four thousand missionaries and the doctrines of Gautama were accepted as far east as China and Japan, and as far south as Java. But the wave receded; India returned to Hinduism, China to Confucianism and Japan to Shintoism, and Mohammedanism now outnumbers Buddhism on the Ganges. The Buddhists still hold Burma, Thibet and Ceylon, but even in these countries there is evidence of decline. Kandy, the capital city of Ceylon, has the distinction of guarding a "sacred tooth," thought by the ignorant to be one of the eyeteeth of Buddha. It is kept in a gold and jeweled casket enclosed in six larger ones and is an object of worship, but the more intelligent Buddhists know that it is a fraud.

At Rangoon I found a Baptist school, conducted by Americans, with nearly nine hundred pupils, and learned of the gratifying success which has attended missionary work in Burma.

And yet, there is a Buddhist propaganda in Europe and America! In a review called Buddhism, published at Rangoon by the International Buddhist Society, I read that Kaiser Wilhelm is "alarmed" at the progress that this religion is making in Germany, and I also read that our country offers a promising field for Buddhist missionaries.

As a religion of agnosticism, requiring belief in neither God nor immortality, nor in the morality taught by Christ, it may appeal to some who, like the Englishman whom I found in the monastery, have already rejected Christianity, but it is not likely to appeal to those who have had religious experience. Those who emphasize good works, and fail to recognize the need of an inspiring faith behind the works, may take refuge in the teachings of Buddha from the more exacting requirements of the Nazarene, but no one is likely to be led astray who compares the altruism, the philanthropy and the benevolences of Christianity with the fruits of Buddhism. To live, even in poverty, upon the labors of others with a view to gaining thus an earlier entrance into blissful unconsciousness is not so unselfish after all, as to spend one's self in the service of his fellows and to convert life into an exhaustless fountain.

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We have at least reached India—and what extremes are here! Southern India penetrates the Indian Ocean and is so near the Equator that the inhabitants swelter under the heat of a perpetual summer, while the rocky sentinels that guard the northern frontier are clad in the ice of an eternal winter. As might be expected in a land which has every altitude from sea level to nearly thirty thousand feet, one finds all varieties of vegetation, from the delicate fern of the tropics to the sturdy edelweiss that blossoms in the snow—from the grain and orchards of Agra, Oudh and the Punjab to the cotton, rice and fruits of Bombay, Calcutta and Madras. The extremes are as noticeable among the people as in nature's realm. In learning there is a great gulf between the Hindu pundit and the ignorant ryot; there is a wide sea between the wealth of the native prince and the poverty of the masses; and there is a boundless ocean between the government and the people.

Eastern India is entered through Calcutta, a city of more than a million inhabitants which has been built up under British occupancy. It is the capital of the province of Bengal and the winter capital of British India. I say winter capital because the higher English officials have their headquarters at Simla, eight thousand feet up in the Himalayas, during eight months of the year. Calcutta is on the Hooghly river, one of the numerous mouths of the Ganges; and the Ganges, it may be added, is a little disappointing to one who has read about it from youth. Instead of being a large river, flowing down from the Himalayas directly to the sea, it is neither of great length nor of great width. It runs for hundreds of miles along the foot of the range and joins the Brahmaputra, which comes from an opposite direction and apparently is much longer. The mouths of the joint stream form a delta like that of the Nile, which at the coast is something like two hundred miles wide.

Lacking the antiquity of the cities of the interior, Calcutta does not possess many things of interest to the tourist, no elaborate tombs, no massive mosques and few temples of importance, although all shades of religion are represented here. There is a very pretty Jain temple in the suburbs, and in the city there is a Hindu temple where goats are offered as a sacrifice, but the center of Hinduism is at Benares, while Agra, Delhi and Lucknow furnish the finest specimens of the taste of the Mohammedan rulers. There are at Calcutta some fine public buildings and less pretentious private blocks, some beautiful parks and a very extensive museum.

In this museum one can learn more of the various races of India, of their dress, implements and weapons, more of the animal and insect life, more of India's mineral wealth, more of her woods, stones and marbles, more of her agricultural products and manufactures than he can in weeks of travel. He sees here mounted specimens of bug and butterfly, bird, fish and beast. It is the very Mecca of the student and we saw a number of groups thus engaged. Among the insects there are several which illustrate the mimicry of nature to a marvelous degree. Some are like dried grass, some like moss and some like leaves. The most remarkable of these is the leaf insect which can scarcely be detected from a leaf even after it has been pointed out. There is a mountain grouse which turns white in the winter, and in some countries a hare which undergoes the same change. In Ceylon there are crabs with legs like pieces of coral and a color closely resembling the sand upon which they crawl, but the leaf insect surpasses them all. Not only is its color identical with the leaf, but its body and wings are veined and ribbed like a leaf; even rust spots could be found on some of them. We could hardly have believed our own eyes had we not seen some of these insects alive and some of the young just hatched.

The botanical garden, while not equal in variety or beauty to the gardens at Buitenzorg and Kandy, has one object of growing interest, viz., a gigantic banyan tree. This tree is nearly a century and a half old and shades a spot of ground almost a thousand feet in circumference. Great arms run out from the parent trunk and these are supported by four hundred and sixty-four ærial roots or minor trunks, some of which are several feet in diameter. Seen from a distance the tree presents a very symmetrical appearance, and, as it is still growing, it is likely to become, if it is not already, the largest tree in the world.

The zoological garden contains some excellent specimens. We were especially interested in the Bengal tigers, in a red-nosed African mandrill (which looks like a cross between a hog and an ape), and in the monkeys. Three of the latter belong to the shouting variety—at least, they do shout. When the attendant gives the cue, they set up such a chorus of ear-splitting yells as one seldom hears. The echoing and re-echoing makes a din before which the noise of a football game seems tame. While not a football enthusiast, I venture the suggestion that an American team would do well to secure the assistance of these rooters, for they could work up the necessary enthusiasm on short notice and with a great saving to the throats of the students.

On the streets of Calcutta one sees Indian life in all its forms. The coolies wear the lightest possible clothing and carry enormous burdens on their heads. I saw eight of them hurrying down the street at a fast walk bearing a grand piano on their heads. In another place one man carried a large Saratoga trunk on his head down the hotel stairs. He had to have assistance in lifting and lowering it, but when it was once balanced on his head he marched off with it with apparent ease. The coolie women also carry burdens upon their heads, water jars being their specialty. Two and even three of these, one on top of another, are sometimes carried in this way. The brass water pot is, by the way, never out of sight in India; it is to be seen everywhere, and the scouring of these pots seems to give employment for leisure moments.

While much carrying is done on the head and on the pole, carts of all kinds are numerous. The water buffalo is to be found in India, but he divides the honors with the Indian bullock as a beast of burden. The Indian bullock is a mild-eyed beast, usually white or light in color, and has a hump on the shoulders which seems to be made expressly for the yoke. There is a small variety of the bullock, which is used for drawing passenger carts, and some of these are so fast that they are entered in trotting races.

The merchants of India are a shrewd and persistent class. They press their wares upon one at the hotels and in their shops, and the purchaser never knows whether he is buying at a bargain or paying two or three prices. It is not at all uncommon for the dealer to begin negotiations with the assertion that he has but one price and that his conscience will not allow him to ask more than a fair price, and conclude by selling at a twenty-five or fifty per cent discount. It may be that natives are treated differently, but the foreigner is likely to be charged "what the traffic will bear."

You can not judge of the value of a merchant's stock by the size or appearance of his store. He may have a little booth open in front, with no show windows, but when he begins to bring out his trunks and bundles, he may exhibit jewelry worth a hundred thousand dollars, or rich embroideries worth their weight in gold. The merchant sits cross-legged on the floor and spreads out the wares which his attendants bring, beguiling you the while with stories of Lord So and So's purchase, or Lady What's Her Name's order, or of a check for thousands handed him by an American millionaire.

The native buildings are, as a rule, neither beautiful nor cleanly. The little shops that open on the street exhibit food and vegetables arranged in heaps, the vendor apparently indifferent to dust and flies. The houses are generally of adobe, plastered with mud and without floors. In the warmer sections of the country they are built of matting and bamboo. The rich Indians live in substantial homes with high ceilings, tile floors and spacious verandas, but these are very few compared with the mass of the poor.

The Indian women of the higher classes are in seclusion all the time. They seldom leave their homes and when they do venture out they travel in covered chairs or closed carriages. This custom was brought into India by the Mohammedan conquerors, but it has been generally adopted by Hindu society. There is a growing sentiment among the educated Hindus against this practice, so burdensome to woman, but custom yields slowly to new ideas. At Calcutta we met several Indian ladies of high social rank who, in their home life, have felt the influence of western ideas and who have to some extent lessened the rigors of the zenana (seclusion). Two of these ladies,—one a princess—were daughters of the famous Keshub Chunder Sen, the great Hindu reformer, whose writing made a profound impression on the religious thought of the world. In the group was also a daughter-in-law of Mr. Sen's, a brilliant woman who was left the widow of a native prince at the age of thirteen and who recently shocked the orthodox Hindus by a second marriage. I mention these ladies because they represent the highest type of Indian womanhood, and it would be difficult to find in any country, in a group of the same size, more beauty, culture and refinement.

The principal article of feminine dress is the sarai, a long strip of cotton or silk, part of which is wrapped about the body to form a skirt, while the rest is draped over the head and shoulders in graceful folds. This garment lends itself to ornamentation and is usually embroidered along the edges, sometimes with silver and gold. We have not found in our travels a more becoming and attractive costume.

The dress of the men is so varied that description is impossible. One form of dress resembles the Roman toga. Many wear trousers made by mysterious windings and foldings of a long strip of cloth, others wear loose pantaloons. The coats are as multiform, a long, close-fitting one being the most popular. But the hat is the article to which most care is given. While the fez is popular, it is not so conspicuous as the turban. The latter is to be seen in all colors, shapes and styles. Some of the educated Indians have adopted the European dress, but the change in costume has not been rapid.

Calcutta is one of the educational centers of India, and one finds in the city many of the leaders of thought, educational and political. The University of Calcutta grants degrees and affiliates to itself the colleges whose students are preparing for the university examinations. Besides the university there are medical, law and technical schools which draw young men from the entire country. The position taken by Lord Curzon in the matter of higher education aroused so much opposition among the native population that an association was formed two years ago for the purpose of raising money to defray the expenses of students desiring to study abroad. Last year fourteen students were selected and sent to different countries. This year forty-four are going, and I had the pleasure of meeting these at a public reception given them at the town hall.

This meeting interested me very much. It was opened with a prayer by Editor Sen, of the Indian Mirror, a liberal Hindu, and it was such a prayer as might have been offered in any American church. It was so brief that I quote it in full:

"We thank Thee, O God, that by Thy blessing those young men whom we sent abroad for study last year are doing their work well and have by Thy grace been kept in the right path. We are now met to bid farewell to a much larger number of our youths, who are shortly leaving these shores for study in distant foreign lands. We ask Thy abundant blessing on them, and we humbly beseech Thee to protect them in their travels by sea and land and to bring them all safely to their respective destinations. May they be diligent in their studies, obedient to their teachers, grateful to those by whose help they are being sent abroad, and blameless in their conduct. May the love and fear of God rule their hearts, and may they return to us and to those nearest and dearest to them in due course crowned with full success and filled with an earnest desire to labor for the good of their country and their poorer brethren. We commend them to Thy gracious keeping as we now bid them a hearty farewell, and beseech Thee to help us all to live and work for the glory of Thy name and the good of our fellow men now and always."

Most of the students were going to Japan—one of the many indications of that country's increasing influence in the Orient—some were going to England and a few to America. Those bound for America called upon me later at the hotel, and I found them an earnest and ambitious group. They had, as all the Indians whom we met seemed to have, a high opinion of our country and spoke with enthusiasm of the benefits which they hoped to derive from their stay in the United States. These, and other students with whom I came in contact, impressed me as exceedingly patriotic and anxious to turn their information and their ability to the advantage of their country.

In Calcutta there are a number of Indians, who have won prominence in various spheres of activity. Editor Sen, to whom I have already referred, is one of the most influential of the native editors and writers; Editor Banerjee, of the Bengalee, is both a writer and an orator, and the editor of the Patrika has made his paper an exponent of advanced political thought. The Tagore family has furnished several men prominent in religious, literary and official life; education has found a patron in the Roy family, and Dr. Bose has won more than a national reputation in science.

Those who visit Calcutta can not afford to miss the side trip to Darjeeling, a summer resort perched upon the foothills of the Himalayas. The journey is rather fatiguing—three hours to the Ganges, then an all night ride to the foot of the range and then an eight hour climb on a two-foot gauge up the mountain side, but it amply repays the effort. We count this experience among the richest that we have enjoyed. The city of Darjeeling is about seven thousand feet above the sea, and the sides of the Himalayas are so steep at this point that it is only fifty miles down the zig-zag little railroad to the plain where the elevation is but two or three hundred feet. I do not know where one can find more of the grand and picturesque in the same distance than on this narrow gauge that threads its way up the rocky sides of this most stupendous of mountain ranges.

Darjeeling is so near Thibet, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan that one finds here a motley variety of types and sees something of the native life of the forbidden land that stretches along the northern border of India. The mountain tribes are sturdier in build, coarser in feature and lighter in color than the people of the lowlands, and we saw some types that strongly resembled the American Indian.

But to return to the mountains themselves; the view from Darjeeling is unsurpassed. The Kinchinjunga Peaks rise to a height of 28,156 feet above the sea, or nearly twice as high as Pike's Peak, and though forty-five miles distant, are clear and distinct. The summits, seen above the clouds, seem to have no terrestrial base, but hang as if suspended in mid air. The best view is obtained from Tiger Hill, six miles from Darjeeling and two thousand feet higher. We made this trip one morning, rising at three o'clock, and reaching the observation point a little before sunrise. I wish I were able to convey to the reader the impression made upon us.

While all about us was yet in darkness, the snowy robe which clothes the upper twelve thousand feet of the range, caught a tint of pearl from the first rays of the sun, and, as we watched, the orb of day, rising like a ruby globe from a lake of dark blue mist, gilded peak after peak until at last we saw Mt. Everest, earth's loftiest point, one hundred and twenty miles away and nearly a thousand feet higher than Kinchinjunga. We saw the shadows fleeing from the light like hunted culprits and hiding in the deep ravines, and we marked the triumph of the dawn as it swept down the valleys.

How puny seem the works of man when brought into comparison with majestic nature! His groves, what pigmies when measured against the virgin forest! His noblest temples, how insignificant when contrasted with the masonry of the hills! What canvas can imitate the dawn and sunset! What inlaid work can match the mosaics of the mountains!

Is it blind chance that gives these glimpses of the sublime? And was it blind chance that clustered vast reservoirs about inaccessible summits and stored water to refresh the thirsty plains through hidden veins and surface streams?

No wonder man from the beginning of history has turned to the heights for inspiration, for here is the spirit awed by the infinite and here one sees both the mystery of creation and the manifestations of the Father's loving kindness. Here man finds a witness, unimpeachable though silent, to the omnipotence, the omniscience and the goodness of God.

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Before beginning the trip through the interior, a paragraph must be given to Indian travel. There are no Pullman sleepers in this country, and the tourist must carry his bedding with him. Night trains have compartments containing broad seats which can be used as couches and hanging shelves upon which one may lie. The traveler carries his own blanket, pillow, sheet, towels, soap, etc., and occasionally has to rely on these at hotels as well as on the trains. The cars are entered from the side, and one must take his chance of waking at the right station, for there is no official to give him warning. In India it is customary for foreigners to take an Indian servant with them who acts as an interpreter and looks after the baggage—and looking after the baggage is no easy task in this part of the British empire. After we had made one short trip without assistance we were glad to yield to the custom, and Goolab, a Calcutta Mussulman, proved himself an invaluable aid in dealing with the baggage coolies, whose language we could not understand and whose charges vary from the legal rate as the minimum to three or four times that if the tourist shows himself a novice at the business.

The hotels of India are declared by the guide books to be bad, and one does not feel like disputing these authorities after having made the trip. I do not mean to say that there is no difference between them, for in several places we found comfortable rooms and in some places palatable food. Everywhere we were so interested in what we saw that we could endure almost any kind of accommodations, but at one place the fare was so unsatisfactory that we were reduced to eggs and toast. Goolab, overhearing some mutterings of discontent, took it upon himself to report in the hope of securing some improvement, and the clerk asked me for particulars. I told him that I had not intended to make any complaint, but that as he was good enough to inquire, I would say that we did not like the cooking; that the crackers were sometimes mouse-eaten and that we found worms in the cabbage. He thought that the mice were inexcusable, but, as if the question disposed of the matter, asked: "The worm was dead, wasn't it?" I was compelled to admit that it was.

Leaving Calcutta, we sought the ancient city of Benares, which bears the distinction of being the center of Hinduism. In fact, it has been the religious capital of India for two thousand years or more.

At Sarnath, just outside Benares, stands the first Buddhist pagoda, said to have been erected nearly five hundred years before the beginning of the Christian era to commemorate a spot in the deer park where Buddha taught his disciples. Recent excavations near there have brought to light one of the Asoka pillars which, though unfortunately broken, still bears testimony to the skill of the sculptor as well as to the zeal of the great Buddhist king. But these ruins are all that is left of Buddhism in this vicinity, where Buddha lived and taught and where his doctrines were once triumphant, or Hinduism has virtually rooted out Buddhism, adopting, it is said, the device of making him one of the incarnations of their own god.

At Benares one sees idolatry in its grossest and most repulsive forms, and it is therefore as interesting to-day to the student of the world's great religions as to the devoted Hindu who travels hundreds of miles over dusty roads to bathe in the Ganges, whose waters he considers sacred. Benares is built upon the north bank of the Ganges, and it is estimated that each year it is visited by a million pilgrims. When more than three hundred miles from the city, we saw the caravan of one of the Maharaja (Maharaja is the title borne by native princes) on its way to the river. There were five elephants, a dozen camels and twenty or thirty bull carts, besides numerous pack animals and horses. The trip could not be made in much less than two months, and all this for the sake of a bath in the waters of the sacred river.

The bank of the Ganges is lined for a long distance with bathing ghats (as the steps leading to the river are called), and at one point there is a burning ghat, where the bodies of the dead are cremated. Cremation is universal among the Hindus, sandalwood being used where the relatives can afford it. Taking a boat, as is customary, we rowed up and down the river in the early morning, and such a sight! Down the steps as far as the eye could reach came the bathers, men, women and children, and up the steps went a constant stream of those who had finished their ablutions. Most of them carried upon their heads water pots of shining brass, and some carried bundles of wearing apparel. The bathing is done leisurely as if according to ritual, with frequent dippings; water is poured out to the sun and prayers are said. The lame, the halt and the blind are there, some picking their way with painful step, others assisted by friends. Here, a leper sought healing in the stream; near him a man with a emaciated form mixed his medicine with the holy water, and not far off a fakir with matted hair prayed beneath his big umbrella. On one of the piers a young man was cultivating psychic power by standing on one leg while he told his beads with his face toward the sun.

Dressing and undressing is a simple matter with the mass of the people. Men and women emerging from the water throw a clean robe around themselves, and then unloosing the wet garment, wring it out and are ready to depart. Those who bring water pots fill them from the stream, out of which they have recently come, and carry them away as if some divinity protected the water from pollution. As the river contains countless dead and receives the filth of the city as well as the flowers cast into it by worshipers, it requires a strong faith to believe it free from lurking disease and seeds of pestilence.

When we reached the burning ghat, we found one body on the funeral pyre and another soaking in the water as a preparation for burning. So highly is the Ganges revered that aged people are brought there that they may die, if possible, in the water. While we were watching, a third body was prepared for the burning, and it was so limp that death could not have occurred long before. While the flames were consuming those three corpses, we saw coming down the steps a man carrying the body of a child, apparently about two years old, wrapped in a piece of thin cotton cloth. (The children of the poor are buried in the stream because of the cost of wood.) The man bore his lifeless burden to a little barge and made the corpse fast to a heavy stone slab. The boatman then pushed out from the shore, and when the middle of the stream was reached the man in charge of the body dropped it overboard, and the burial was over.

No one has seen India until he has seen the Ganges; no one has seen the Ganges until he has seen it at Benares; and no one who has seen the Ganges at Benares will ever forget it.

In the suburbs of the city stands the Durga Temple, better known as the Monkey Temple, because it is the home of a large family of monkeys, which are regarded as sacred. Photographs of the temple present rather an attractive appearance, but the original is anything but beautiful, and the monkeys and general filth of the place deprive it of all appearance of a place of worship.

The Golden Temple, however, is the one most visited by tourists, and it would be difficult to picture a less inviting place. The buildings are old and greasy, and the narrow streets are filled with images and thronged with beggars. One finds his interest in missionary work quickened if he wanders through these streets and sees the offering of incense to the elephant god and the monkey god, and to images innumerable. The air is heavy with perfume and the odor of decaying flowers, and one jostles against the sacred bulls as he threads his way through the crowd. We have not seen in any other land such evidences of superstition, such effort to ward off evil spirits and to conciliate idols. The educated Hindus, and there are many learned men among the Hindus, regard these idols as only visible representations of an invisible God, but the masses seem to look no farther than the ugly images before which they bow.

It was a relief to find near this dark pool of idolatry an institution of learning, recently founded, which promises to be a purifying spring. I refer to the Central Hindu College, of which Mrs. Annie Besant, the well known theosophist, is the head. Although the school is but seven years old, it already includes a valuable group of buildings and has some five hundred students. Among the professors are several Englishmen who serve without compensation, finding sufficient reward in the consciousness of service.

Next to Benares Allahabad is the most important Hindu center. The city is on the Ganges, at its junction with the Jumna, one of its longest branches. There is an old tradition that another river, flowing underground, empties into the Ganges at this point, and the place is referred to as the junction of the three rivers. The great Mogul Akbar built a splendid fort where the Ganges and the Jumna meet, and probably on this account Allahabad is the capital of the United Provinces of Agra and Oudh. Within the walls of the fort there is another of the Asoka pillars, a very well preserved one, forty-nine feet high and bearing numerous inscriptions, among which are the famous edicts of Asoka, issued in 240 B. C., against the taking of life. Within the fort in a subterranean room is another object of interest, the Akhshai Bar or undecaying banyan tree. As this tree is described by a Chinese pilgrim of the seventh century, it is either of remarkable antiquity or has been renewed from time to time.

The religious importance of Allahabad is largely due to a fair which is held there every year and which on every twelfth year becomes a national event. It is called the Mela, and last January brought to the city a crowd estimated at from one and a half to three millions. This every-twelfth-year fair brings together not only the devout Hindus, who come as a matter of religious duty, and innumerable traders, who at such times find a market for their wares, but it draws large numbers of fakirs (pronounced fah-keers, with the accent upon the last syllable) or holy men. They wear full beards and long hair and no clothing except the breech cloth. They put ashes and even manure upon their heads, and their hair and whiskers are matted and discolored. These men are supposed to have raised themselves to a high spiritual state by asceticism and self-punishment. They undergo all sorts of hardships, such as hanging over a fire, holding up the arm until it withers, and sitting upon a bed of spikes. We saw many fakirs at Benares and Allahabad and some elsewhere (for they are scattered over the whole country), and at the latter place one accommodated us by taking his seat upon the spikes.

At the recent Mela five hundred of these fakirs marched in a procession naked, even the breech cloth having been abandoned for the occasion, and so great was the reverence for them that their followers struggled to obtain the sand made sacred by their tread, a number of people meeting their death in the crowd. These fakirs are supposed to have reached a state of sinlessness, but one of them seized a child along the line of march and dashed out its brains in the presence of its mother, claiming to be advised that the gods desired a human sacrifice. He was arrested by the British officials and is now awaiting trial on the charge of murder. The papers recently reported another instance in which a fakir was the cause of a murder. He was consulted by a woman who had lost several children and was anxious to protect her prospective child from a like fate. The fakir told her that she could insure her child's life if she would herself bathe in human blood, and she and her husband enticed a seven-year-old boy into their home and killed him to secure the blood necessary for the bath. The fakirs are not only a danger to the community in some cases and a source of demoralization at all times, but they are a heavy drain upon the producing wealth of the country. Adding nothing to the material, intellectual or moral development of the country, they live upon the fears and credulity of the people.

The Hindu religion claims something more than two hundred millions of human beings within its membership; it teaches the transmigration of the soul or reincarnation as it is generally called. The Hindu mind takes kindly to the metaphysical, and the Hindu priests have evolved an intricate system of philosophy in support of their religious beliefs. Reincarnation is set forth as a theory necessary to bring God's plans into accord with man's conception of justice. If a man is born blind or born into unfavorable surroundings, it is explained on the theory that he is being punished for sins committed during a former existence; if he is born into a favorable environment he is being rewarded for virtue previously developed.

It is not quite certain whether the Hindus have many gods or many forms of one god, for the ancient Vedas speak of each of several gods as if they were supreme. The most popular god is a sort of trinity, Bramah, the creator; Vischnu, the preserver, and Siva, the destroyer, being united in one. Sometimes the trinity is spoken of as representing creation, destruction and renovation, in which Krishna appears as the principal god. Out of this system have sprung a multitude of gods until the masses bow down "to sticks and stones."

The most pernicious product of the Hindu religion is the caste system. Infant marriage is terrible, but that will succumb to education; the seclusion of the women is benumbing, but it will give way before the spread of European and American influence, and with it will go the practical servitude of widows, as the practice of suttee (the burning of widows) has practically gone. But the caste system, resting upon vanity, pride and egotism, is more difficult to eradicate. Nowhere in the world is caste so inexorable in its demands or so degrading in its influence. The line between the human being and the beast of the field is scarcely more distinctly drawn than the line between the various castes. The Brahmins belong to the priestly class, and are supposed to have sprung from the mouth of Brahm, the great creator; the Kshatrias, or warrior class, are supposed to have sprung from the shoulders of Brahm; the Vaisyas, or merchant class, are supposed to have sprung from the thighs of Brahm; while the Sudras, or laborers, are supposed to have sprung from the feet of Brahm. There are numerous sub-divisions of these castes, and besides these there are outcasts; although there does not seem to be any room below the Sudras for any other class. The caste system not only affects social intercourse and political progress, but it complicates living. A high caste Hindu can not accept food or drink from a low caste, and must purify his water bottle if a low caste touches it.

About seventy years ago a reform in Hinduism was begun under the name of Brahmo Somaj. It was built upon monotheism, or the worship of one god, for which it claimed to find authority in the Hindu sacred books. It drew to itself a number of strong men, among them Mr. Tagore and Mr. Sen, the latter making a trip to England to present the principles of the new faith before prominent religious bodies there.

The Arya Somaj, another reform sect, sprung up later. Both of these have exerted considerable influence upon the thought of India, far beyond their numerical strength. So far, however, Christianity has made greater inroads upon Hinduism than any of the reformations that have been attempted from within.

At Allahabad we found two Christian colleges, the Allahabad Christian College for men and the Wanamaker School for girls. Dr. A. H. Ewing is at the head of the former and Miss Foreman, the daughter of an early missionary, at the head of the latter. Both of these schools have been built with American money, Mr. Wanamaker having been the most liberal patron. They are excellently located, are doing a splendid work and are affiliated with the Presbyterian Church. Fifty dollars will pay for the food, room, clothes and tuition of one boy, while thirty dollars will provide for one girl, and interested Americans have already established several scholarships, but money is badly needed to enlarge the facilities of both these schools.

We spent the Sabbath at Allahabad and visited both of these schools, and our appreciation of their work was enhanced by our observation at Benares. It seemed like an oasis in the desert. Surely those who have helped to create this green spot—may it ever widen—will find intense satisfaction in the good that these schools are doing and will do.

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Strictly speaking, the term, Mohammedan India, could only be applied to those frontier districts in which the Mohammedans have a preponderating influence, but the Mohammedan emperors left such conspicuous monuments of their reign in Lucknow, Delhi and Agra that it does not violate the proprieties to thus describe this section. The Mohammedans themselves have laid virtual claim to this territory by the establishment of their chief college at Aligahr, nearly equidistant from Agra and Delhi, and their claim is still further strengthened by the fact that while they have not a majority, they have a very large percentage of the population of both of the last named cities.

In approaching this section of India from the east, the tourist passes through Cawnpore, made memorable by the massacre of the British residents during the mutiny of 1857. The recollection of the mutiny is still fresh in the minds of the British officials, and numerous monuments have been reared to the bravery of the besieged garrisons.

At Calcutta one is shown a black piece of pavement which covers a part of the Black Hole of Calcutta (the rest of the hole is now covered by a building) where in 1756 one hundred and forty-six human beings were forced to spend the night and from which only twenty-three escaped alive. The hole was twenty-two by fourteen feet and only sixteen or eighteen feet in height, and the awful sufferings of those who perished there are commemorated by an obelisk which stands near by.

But the cruelty practiced at the time of the mutiny far more stirred the English heart, and as the uprising was more extensive, several cities contain memorials. Of these the most beautiful is at Cawnpore, and is called "The Angel of the Resurrection." It is made of white marble and represents an angel with hands crossed and each holding a palm. It stands upon an elevated mound in a beautiful park, and is enclosed by a stone screen. It was the gift of Lord and Lady Canning and bears the following inscription: "Sacred to the perpetual memory of a great company of Christian people, chiefly women and children, who near this spot were cruelly murdered by the followers of the rebel Nana Dhundu Pant, of Bithur, and cast, the dying with the dead, into the well below, on the 15th day of July, 1857."

There is also at Cawnpore, in another park, a stately memorial church, the inner walls of which are lined with tablets containing the names of British soldiers who lost their lives during the mutiny.

Lucknow is not far from Cawnpore, and here, too, the mutiny has left its scars and monuments. The Lucknow residency, now an ivy mantled ruin, was the scene of the great siege that lasted from the first of July, 1857, to the seventeenth of November. At the beginning there were within the walls nine hundred British troops and officers, one hundred and fifty volunteers, seven hundred native troops, six hundred women and children and seven hundred non-combatant natives; total, about three thousand. When relief came but one thousand remained. The night before the arrival of Sir Colin Campbell with reinforcements, one of the besieged, a Scotch girl, dreamed of the coming of relief, and her dream gave rise to the song so familiar a generation ago, "The Campbells Are Coming."[5]

There are in Lucknow a number of tombs, mosques and buildings that gave us our first glimpse of the architecture of the Mogul emperors—great domes, gigantic gateways and graceful minarets, stately columns and vaulted galleries. The most interesting of the buildings, Imambarah, built by Asaf-ud-daulah, contains a great hall more than a hundred and fifty feet long and about fifty feet in breadth and height. On one side of the court is a private mosque and on the other a group of apartments built around a well as a protection against the summer's heat. From the top of the Imambarah one obtains an excellent view of Lucknow and its surroundings.

At Aligarh I found a great educational institution which must be taken into consideration in estimating the future of Mohammedanism in India. It was founded in 1877, largely through the influence and liberality of Sir Syed Ahmed, who until his death in 1898 devoted himself entirely to its development. He was a large-minded man and full of zeal for the enlightenment of his co-religionists. He recognized the low intellectual standard of the Mohammedan Indians, and the controlling purpose of his life was to assist in their improvement. At first, his educational enterprise met with a cold reception at the hands of the leaders of his church. Emissaries were even sent from Mecca to assassinate him, but, nothing daunted, he pursued his plans until the church authorities recognized the importance of the school.

As the Mohammedans are numerically weaker than the Hindus and unable to cope with them in intellectual contests, Sir Syed opposed the national congress proposition which the Hindus have long urged and the Aligarh school became conspicuous for its pro-British leanings on this question. This may account in part for the interest taken in it by the colonial government. (The Central Hindu College at Benares refuses government aid and is, therefore, more independent.) But since the death of Sir Syed the congress idea is growing among the students of Aligarh.

Aligarh College now has an enrollment of seven hundred and four, more than a hundred of whom are law students. It has an English Cambridge graduate for president and several English professors. I might add that England, like America, has sent many teachers to India, and that they are engaged in work, the importance of which can not be overestimated. I had the pleasure of meeting those connected with St. John's College at Agra as well as those at Aligarh.

Delhi is one of India's most ancient cities. When the Aryans came down from the northwest and conquered the aboriginal tribes, they founded a city which they called Indrapat, just south of the present site of Delhi. How old it is no one knows, for the names of its founders have been forgotten, its records, if it had any, have been destroyed, and its streets are winding footpaths which one follows with difficulty. Every wave of invasion that has swept down from the north or west has passed over Indrapat, and its stones would tell a thrilling story if they could but speak. The city has been rebuilt again and again, the last time about three hundred years ago, but it has little to exhibit now but its antiquity. There is a massive city wall with huge gates, there are tumble-down buildings occupied by a few people and some goats, and there is a stone library building erected hundreds of years before Carnegie was born, but the glory of Indrapat has departed. Not far from Indrapat is the splendid tomb of Humayun and another of the Asoka pillars.

Eleven miles south of the present Delhi is what is called old Delhi (Delhi seems to have had a movable site) immortalized by the famous Kutab Minar, or tower, erected near the close of the twelfth century by one of the earliest Mohammedan conquerors after the capture of Delhi. The tower—a tower of victory—is two hundred and thirty-eight feet in height, forty-seven feet in diameter at the base and nine at the top. It has been described as one of the architectural wonders of the world, and it certainly gives one a profound respect for the mind that planned it. There are so many mausoleums and mosques scattered over the plains around Delhi that space forbids particular description.

Within a century after the death of Mohammed the Moslems made an attack upon India, but it was five hundred years later before they became masters of the great peninsula. Then for five hundred more it was the scene of conflict between rival Moslems until Timur (Tamerlan, the Tartar) plundered it and drenched it with blood. In all these wars Delhi was the strategic point, the natural capital of the north. After Timur, came his descendant of the sixth generation, Babar, who consolidated the Indian empire by bravery, tact and wisdom. He is the first of the great Mogul rulers, but he was so occupied with the extension of his sovereignty that he was compelled to leave the development of the empire to his descendants. His grandson, Akbar, built three great forts, one at Allahabad, to which reference has been made in another article, another at Agra, which he made his capital, and the third at Atok, still farther north. He also built Fatepur Sikri about twenty miles from Agra. This was to be his home, and here on a sandstone ridge overlooking the plain he reared a group of buildings which even now, though deserted for two centuries, attracts tourists from all over the world. While the material employed is red sandstone, the buildings are models of beauty as well as strength, and the minute and elaborate carvings are masterpieces in their line.

The fort built by Akbar at Agra, while not proof against modern missiles, was impregnable in its day and still bears testimony to the constructive genius of the second of the Moguls.

Six miles from Agra at Sikandra stands the magnificent tomb which Akbar built and where he rests. It is constructed of red sandstone and is part Buddhist and part Saracenic in design. The base is three hundred and twenty feet square and its four retreating galleries terminate in a roofless court of white marble in which stands a marble casket surrounded by screens of marble most exquisitely carved. Special interest is felt in the tomb because one of its ornaments was the famous Kohinoor diamond, the largest in the world. It had come down to Akbar from his grandfather, who in turn secured it from the Rajputs. The diamond was carried away by Persian conquerors, and later was returned to India only to be transferred to Queen Victoria.

But if Akbar surpassed his grandfather as a builder, he was in turn surpassed by his grandson, Shah Jehan. This emperor, the last of the three great Moguls, who began his career by murdering two brothers and two cousins whose rivalry he feared, and who closed his career a prisoner of his rebellious son, has linked his name with some of the most beautiful structures ever conceived by the mind of man. At Agra within the walls of his grandfather's fort, he built the Pearl Mosque which has been described as "the purest, loveliest house of prayer in existence." It is constructed of milk white marble and combines strength, simplicity and grace. He also built the Gem Mosque at Delhi.

The fort at Delhi was built by Shah Jehan, and if its resemblance to the fort at Agra deprives him of credit for originality, that argument can not be raised against the palace within, for this is unrivaled among palaces. The marble baths, the jeweled bed chambers, the pillared halls, the graceful porticoes—all these abound in rich profusion. But it was upon the great hall of Private Audience that he lavished taste and wealth. The floor is of polished marble, the pillars and the arched ceiling of polished marble inlaid with precious stones, so set as to form figures and flowers. Each square inch of it speaks of patient toil and skill, and the whole blends harmoniously. For this magnificent audience room he designed a throne fit for the chamber in which it stood. "It was called the peacock throne because it was guarded by two peacocks with expanded tails ornamented with jewels that reproduced the natural colors of the bird. The throne itself was made of gold, inlaid with diamonds, rubies and emeralds. Over it was a canopy of gold festooned with pearls supported by twelve pillars, all emblazoned with gems. On either side stood the Oriental emblem of royalty, an umbrella, each handle eight feet high and of solid gold, studded with diamonds, the covers being of crimson velvet crusted and fringed with magnificent pearls." Thus it was described. It was too tempting a prize for greedy conquerors to leave undisturbed, and was carried off some centuries ago by a Persian, Nadir Shah. Shah Jehan, after contemplating this audience chamber and throne, had inscribed upon the wall in Persian characters a verse which has been freely translated to read:

And yet, in view of his sad fate there seems as much irony in the lines as there was in the delicately poised scales of justice which he had inlaid on one of the walls of his palace after he had put his relatives out of the way.

But of all the works of art that can be traced to his genius, nothing compares with the tomb, the Taj Mahal, which he reared in honor of the best-loved of his wives, Numtaj Mahal, "the chosen of the palace." This building, unique among buildings and alone in its class, has been described so often that I know not how to speak of it without employing language already hackneyed. When I was a student at college I heard a lecturer describe this wonderful tomb, and it was one of the objective points in our visit to India. Since I first heard of it I had read so much of it and had received such glowing accounts from those who had seen it, that I feared lest the expectations aroused might be disappointed. We reached Agra toward midnight, and, as the moon was waning, drove at once to the Taj that we might see it under the most favorable conditions, for in the opinion of many it is most beautiful by moonlight. There is something fascinating in the view which it thus presents, and we feasted our eyes upon it. Shrouded in the mellow light, the veins of the marble and the stains of more than two and a half centuries are invisible, and it stands forth like an apparition. We visited it again in the daytime, and yet again, and found that the sunlight increased rather than diminished its grandeur. I am bringing an alabaster miniature home with me, but I am conscious that the Taj must be seen full size and silhouetted against the sky to be appreciated.

Imagine a garden with flowers and lawn, walks and marble water basins and fountains; in this garden build a platform of white marble eighteen feet high and three hundred feet square, with an ornamented minaret one hundred and thirty-seven feet high at each corner; in the center of this platform rear a building one hundred and eighty feet square and a hundred feet high, with its corners beveled off and, like the sides, recessed into bays; surmount it with a large central dome and four smaller ones; cover it inside and out with inlaid work of many colored marbles and carvings of amazing delicacy; beneath the central dome place two marble cenotaphs, inlaid with precious stones, the tombs of Shah Jehan and his wife, and enclose them in exquisitely carved marble screens—imagine all this, if you can, and then your conception of this world-famed structure will fall far below the Taj Mahal itself. It is, indeed, "a dream in marble." And yet, when one looks upon it and then surveys the poverty and ignorance of the women who live within its shadow, he is tempted to ask whether the builder of the Taj might not have honored his wife more had the six million dollars invested in this tomb been expended on the elevation of womanhood. The contrast between this artistic pile and the miserable tenements of the people about it robs the structure of half its charms.

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There is so much of interest in India that I find it difficult to condense all that I desire to say into the space which it seems proper to devote to this country. In speaking of the various cities, I have been compelled to omit reference to the numerous industries for which India is famed. Long before the European set foot upon the soil the artisans had won renown in weaving, in carving and in brass. It was, in fact, the very wealth of Indus that attracted the attention of the western world and turned the prows of merchant vessels toward the Orient. While India can complain that some of her arts have been lost since she has been under the tutelage of foreigners, enough remains to make every tourist a collector, to a greater or less extent, of attractive souvenirs.

Benares is the center of the plain brass manufacture, and her bazaars are full of vases, trays, candlesticks, bowls, etc. Lucknow is noted for her silversmiths, but her products do not command so high a price as those of southern India. Delhi leads in ivory and wood carving, and one can find here the best specimens of this kind of work. Several of the addresses presented to the Prince of Wales upon his recent visit were encased in ivory caskets richly carved and studded with gems. Painting on ivory is also carried to a high state of perfection here, and sandalwood boxes can be found in all the stores.

At Agra one finds rugs woven in Turkish and Persian, as well as in original, designs. Agra is also renowned for its inlaid work, many of the designs of the Taj being copied. The Tag itself is reproduced in miniatures at prices ranging from one dollar up into the hundreds.

In all the cities of upper India, Kashmir shawls may be secured, Kashmir itself being far north of the line of travel. These shawls are of goat's hair, and some of them are so delicate that though two yards square, they can be drawn through a finger ring.

At Jaipore the chief industries which attract the attention of foreigners are enameling on gold and brass, the latter being the best known. Few who visit the bazaars can resist the temptation to carry away some samples of this ware, so graceful are the vessels and so skillful is the workmanship.

Jaipore, the first of the western cities, and the only one of the native states that we visited, is deserving of some notice, partly because it gives evidence of considerable advancement and partly because the government is administered entirely by native officials. The Maharaja is one of the most distinguished of native princes and a descendant of the famous Rajput line of kings. He lives in oriental style, has a number of wives, and elephants, camels and horses galore. He is an orthodox Hindu of the strictest type and drinks no water but the water of the Ganges. When he went to England to attend the coronation, he chartered a ship, took his retinue with him and carried Ganges water enough to last until his return. He is very loyal to the British government and in return he is permitted to exercise over his subjects a power as absolute as the czar ever claimed. There is an English resident at his capital, but his council is composed of Indians, his judges are Indians, his collectors are Indians, his school teachers are Indians, and he has an Indian army. I had the pleasure of meeting one of the council and the head of the school system of the state, and found them men of fine appearance and high culture. The illiteracy in his state compares favorably with that in the states under British administration, and the graduates from the Maharaja's college compete successfully in the examinations with the graduates from other colleges. They have at Jaipore an art school in which all kinds of manual training are taught, and the sale-room of this school gives accurate information as to the capacity of the natives for industrial development. We found here the only native pottery of merit that we noticed in the country.

The city of Jaipore was laid out in 1728 and is one of the most attractive cities in India. The main streets are a hundred and ten feet wide, the buildings are Oriental in style, most of them two stories in height—some three—and all are painted the same shade of pink, with white trimmings and green shutters. The entire city is supplied with water and the streets are lighted by gas. All in all, Jaipore makes a favorable impression upon the visitor.

Some six miles away is the ancient city of Amber, the capital of the state until Jaipore was established. It is reached by a ride on elephant back, the only ride of this kind that we have yet had. There is a beautiful palace at Amber which gives some idea of the luxury in which the Indian rulers lived. We returned from this trip late in the evening when the peacocks were going to roost, and nearly every tree contained one or more of these gaudy-plumaged fowls. These were apparently wild, and their numbers and beauty recalled the fact that the peacock is India's royal bird; and it is not an inappropriate symbol of the pomp and magnificence of the Oriental kings. I might digress here to say that the respect for life taught in the Hindu scriptures has filled India to excess with useless birds and animals. The crows and kites are a nuisance. It is no uncommon thing to see a vendor of cakes and sweetmeats bearing his basket on his head and waving a stick above it to scare off the birds. Sometimes an attendant follows the vendor and protects him from the birds, but in spite of all precautions they get their toll. The crows often come to the doors and windows of the hotels and inquire whether you have any food to spare, and sparrows and other small birds occasionally glean crumbs from the table. At Jaipore we saw myriads of pigeons being fed in the streets, and monkeys—they are everywhere. The jungles of the tropical countries are not more thronged with them than the road sides of some parts of India. About half way between Jaipore and Bombay they were especially numerous, and as we rode along on the train we saw them singly, in groups and in mass meetings. Here, too, we saw herds of antelope, scarcely frightened by the train. Attention has frequently been called to the fact that the Hindu's aversion to meat has a bearing upon the famine question, millions of cattle dying of starvation which, if killed earlier, might have saved thousands of human beings from starving.

A night's ride from Jaipore brought us to Abu Road, from which by pony carts, called tongas, we ascended to Mt. Abu, sixteen miles away. The journey is made over a well kept mountain road which climbs to a height of about five thousand feet. While this mountain resort draws many Europeans because of its altitude, two famous Jain temples are the lodestone that attracts tourists. These temples were built by merchant princes in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and the fact that one of them cost more than five millions of dollars, shows that trade had reached a commanding position in those days. One of the temples was built by two brothers and the guide tells of a tradition that these brothers, tiring of their money, decided to bury it, but on digging in the earth they found more, and considering it a gift from the gods, built this temple. The buildings are not large, and seen from the outside are disappointing, but once within one marvels at the richness of the carving. The pillars and vaulted ceilings are of the purest white marble, brought from no one knows where, and every inch of the surface is covered with figures of gods, human beings, animals, fowls and flowers. The artists utilized the things with which the people were most familiar. Here a frieze of elephant heads, the trunks joined, there a frieze of geese, another of tigers or monkeys. In one dome maidens danced; in another warriors fought; in a third flowers bloomed. The variety is endless and the workmanship perfect. While the panels and friezes and ceilings differ so much from each other, the arrangement is such that they do not seem incongruous, but form a harmonious whole. The Mohammedan conquerors mutilated some of the figures because of their hatred of idolatry, and when, under Lord Curzon's administration, the work of restoration was begun, it was impossible to find marble like the original.

Around these temples are numerous shrines, each containing a seated figure very much resembling Buddha. The Jains are a sect of the Hindus, and their temples are renowned for their beauty. This temple is visited by a large number of pilgrims every year, some of whom were chanting their prayers while we were there.

Another night's ride and we were in Bombay, and what a luxury to find a hotel constructed upon the American plan. The Taj Mahal is the finest hotel in the Orient and would be a credit to any city in our country. It was built by Mr. Tata, a rich Parsee, who planned it more from public than from private considerations.

We found the plague increasing in virulence, three hundred having died in the city the day before we arrived. Bombay has suffered terribly from this scourge, twenty-four per cent having perished from it in the last few days. Two years ago the American consul, Hon. William T. Fee, lost his daughter and came near losing his wife by this dread disease, and two of the European consuls have recently had to leave their homes because of deaths among their native servants. With so many dying in a single city (and ten thousand a week in the entire country), India would seem an unsafe place to visit, and yet one would not know except for the newspapers that an epidemic was raging, so little does it affect business or social life. There is now in use a system of inoculation which promises to materially lessen the mortality from this disease. A serum is prepared in which the venom of serpents is the chief ingredient, and this hypodermically administered has been found almost a sure preventive. While the physicians are employing this remedy, the rat-catchers are also busy, and about a thousand rodents are captured per day, it having been demonstrated that the rat not only spreads the disease, but carries a flea that imparts it by its bite.

Bombay is the Manchester of India, and the smokestacks of its many cotton factories give to the city a very business like appearance. These mills are largely owned by Indians and operated by Indian capital.

On an island near Bombay is one of the most frequented of the rock-hewn temples, called the Elephanta Caves. This temple is chiseled out of the solid rock, great pillars being left to support the roof. It is about one hundred and thirty feet square by seventeen in height and contains a number of figures of heroic size. These figures are carved from the walls and represent various gods and demons. The Portuguese Christians, several centuries ago, showed their contempt for these gods of stone by firing their cannon into the temple. While some of the pillars were battered down and some of the carvings mutilated, enough now remains to show the impressiveness of this ancient place of worship.

No one can visit Bombay without becoming interested in a religious sect, the members of which are known as Parsees. They are few in number, probably not exceeding a hundred thousand in the world, more than half of whom live in or near Bombay. Theirs is the religion of Zoroaster, and they contest with the Hebrews the honor of being the first believers in one God. Their sacred books, the Zend-Avesta, are very ancient, and the origin of their religion is placed anywhere from seven hundred B. C. to three thousand B. C. They not only believe in one God, but they believe in immortality and claim to have impressed their ideas upon the Israelites when the latter were in bondage in Babylon. The Parsees see in the world, as well as in the human being, a continuing conflict between right and wrong, and they regulate their conduct by a high ethical system. When the Moslems swept over Persia and made it one of the stars in Islam's crown, a band of Parsees preferred migration to conversion, and, like our pilgrim fathers, sought a home in a new country. In Bombay they have preserved their identity for some nine centuries and have made themselves a potent influence in every department of the city's activity. They have their marriage ceremony, their fire temples and their funeral rites. They have sometimes been called fire worshipers and sun worshipers, but they simply regard fire as the purest thing known and therefore accept it as a symbol of the invisible god. Fire is kept burning in their temples, and when a new temple is to be dedicated, fire is collected from the homes of persons engaged in the principal industries and occupations, and this mingled fire is used to kindle another fire and this new fire another until the ninth fire is lighted, and this becomes the altar fire. Each fire is kindled without coming in contact with the former one.

The Parsees have a peculiar form of burial, which has come down from prehistoric times. On Malabar Hill in the suburbs of Bombay, overlooking the sea, in the midst of a beautiful garden, are their Towers of Silence. These are large circular buildings twenty-five or thirty feet high and without a roof. Within the wall is a circular platform sloping downward to a well in the center. When a Parsee dies he is prepared for burial and borne to this garden. After the last rites have been performed and the relatives and friends have taken their farewell, the body is carried within the tower by men appointed for the purpose and placed naked upon this platform. As soon as the corpse bearers depart, the waiting vultures (of which several hundred make their home in the garden) swoop down upon it and do not rise until the bones are bare. The skeletons, sun-bleached, are washed by the rains into the pit in the center, where rich and poor, conspicuous and obscure, mingle their dust together. Every sanitary precaution is taken and a fixed rate of five rupees is charged to all alike, the money being advanced from a burial fund where the family can not afford to bear the expense.

The Parsees of Bombay, though they wear a dress peculiar to themselves, are of all the Indians most like the Europeans and Americans. We were in one Parsee home, and the furniture, the pictures and the library were such as would be found in the average home in our country. Statistics show that the percentage of education among the Parsees is very much higher than among any other class of inhabitants, and the women share the educational advantages with the men.

The well-to-do Parsees have been conspicuous in philanthropy, endowing colleges, hospitals and other charities. While they are counted among the staunchest friends of British rule, they are also among the most intelligent critics of the government's faults. Sir Pherosha M. Mehta, the leading Parsee orator, is prominent in the national congress movement. At a reception given at the hotel, and on other occasions, we had an opportunity to meet a number of the Parsees, men and women, priests and laymen, and found them abreast with the times and alive to the problems with which the world is wrestling to-day.

I cannot close this article without mentioning the increasing presence of American influence in Bombay. An American minister, Dr. Mell, is pastor of the principal Methodist church, and the American Congregationalists have a largely attended school for boys and girls in the city. Many of the students were taken from famine-stricken homes and are being educated with American money. There is also here a school for the blind under American management, where the students are not only taught to read and write, but trained in the industries for which they are fitted.

I do not apologize for mentioning from time to time the institutions which altruistic Americans have scattered over the Orient. If we can not boast that the sun never sets on American territory, we can find satisfaction in the fact that the sun never sets on American philanthropy; if the boom of our cannon does not follow the Orb of Day in his daily round, the grateful thanks of those who have been the beneficiaries of American generosity form a chorus that encircles the globe.

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"What is truth?" asked Pilate, and when he had asked the question he went out without waiting for an answer. The question has been asked many times and answered in many different ways. I was reminded of a similar question when I read over the door of a court house in Aligarh, India, the motto: "Justice is the Strength of the British Empire." No empire, no government, no society can have any other source of permanent strength. Lord Salisbury is quoted by Indian leaders as saying: "Injustice will bring down the mightiest to ruin," and we all believe it. Wendell Phillips expressed it as strongly and even more beautifully when he said (I quote from memory): "You may build your capitals until they reach the skies, but if they rest upon injustice, the pulse of a woman will beat them down."

But what is justice? How varied are the answers given! The subject, in the name of justice, presents his appeal to his king, and the sovereign, if he be a despot, may send him to exile or the prison or the block and do it in the name of justice. What is justice? This question has been ringing in my ears during our journey through India.

When I was a law student, I read the speech of Sheridan at the trial of Warren Hastings, and that masterpiece of invective was recalled sixteen years later, when a colonial policy began to be suggested in the United States after the taking of Manila. I tried to inform myself in regard to British rule in India; the more I read about it, the more unjust it seemed. So many Americans have, however, during the last few years spoken admiringly of England's colonial system that I have looked forward to the visit to India with increasing interest, because of the opportunity it would give me to study at close range a question of vital importance to our own country. I have met some of the leading English officials as well as a number in subordinate positions; have talked with educated Indians—Hindus, Mohammedans and Parsees; have seen the people, rich and poor, in the cities and in the country, and have examined statistics and read speeches, reports, petitions and other literature that does not find its way to the United States; and British rule in India is far worse, far more burdensome to the people, and far more unjust—if I understand the meaning of the word—than I had supposed.

When I say this I do not mean to bring an indictment against the English people or to assert that they are guilty of intentional wrongdoing. Neither do I mean to question the motives of those who are in authority. It has been my good fortune to become personally acquainted with Lord Minto, the present viceroy; with Lieutenant Governor Frazer, the chief executive of the province of Bengal; with Lieutenant Governor La Touche, chief executive of the United Provinces of Agra and Oudh, and with Governor Lamington, chief executive of the Bombay presidency, three of the largest Indian states. These men, I am sure, represent the highest type of their countrymen. Lord Minto is fresh from Canada, where he was governor general; Governor Lamington was the head of the Australian government before coming to India, and both Governors Frazer and La Touche have long official experience to their credit. That they will be just, as they understand justice, and do right as they see the right, I am satisfied. But what is justice?

The trouble is that England acquired India for England's advantage, not for India's, and that she holds India for England's benefit, not for India's. She administers India with an eye single to England's interests, not India's, and she passes upon every question as a judge would were he permitted to decide his own case. The officials in India owe their appointment directly or indirectly to the home government, and the home government holds authority at the sufferance of the people of England, not of the people of India. The official who goes out from England to serve a certain time and then return, whose interests are in England rather than in India and whose sympathies are naturally with the British rather than with the natives, can not be expected to view questions from the same standpoint as the Indians. Neither can these officials be expected to know the needs of the people as well as those who share their daily life and aspirations.

It is not necessary to review the earlier rule under the East India Company; that is sufficiently condemned by public record. That company was chartered for commercial purposes, and its rule had no other than a pecuniary aim. It secured control of state after state by helping one native prince against another where it did not actually instigate war between princes. The English government finally took the colony over, confessedly because of the outrageous conduct of the company's officials. No one now defends the rule of the East India Company, although Warren Hastings was finally acquitted by the House of Lords in spite of his crimes, out of consideration for his public service in extending English authority.

Is English rule in India just, as we find it to-day? Fortunately, England permits free speech in England, although she has sometimes restricted it in her colonies, and there has not been a public question under consideration in England for a century which has not brought out independent opinion. It is the glory of England that she was an early champion of freedom of speech, and it is the glory of Englishmen that they criticise their own government when they think it wrong. During the American revolution, Burke thundered his defense of the rights of the colonists, and Walpole warned his countrymen that they could not destroy American liberty without asserting principles which, if carried out, would destroy English liberty as well. During the recent war in South Africa the British had no more severe critics than were to be found among her own people and in her own parliament. And so, to-day, British rule in India is as forcibly arraigned by Englishmen as by the Indians themselves. While Mr. Naoroji, an Indian, goes to England and secures from a meeting of a radical club the adoption of a resolution reciting that as "Britain has appropriated thousands of millions of India's wealth for building up and maintaining her British Indian empire and for drawing directly vast wealth to herself;" that as "she is continuing to drain about thirty million pounds sterling of India's wealth every year unceasingly in a variety of ways" and that as "she has thereby reduced the bulk of the Indian population to extreme poverty, destitution and degradation, it is therefore her bounden duty, in common justice and humanity, to pay from her own exchequer the costs of all famines and diseases caused by such impoverishment." And further, "that it is most humiliating and discreditable to the British name that other countries should be appealed to or should have to come to Britain's help for relief of Britain's own subjects, and after and by her un-British rule of about one hundred and fifty years."

While, I repeat, Mr. Naoroji was securing the unanimous adoption of the above resolution in England, Sir Henry Cotton, now a member of parliament, but for thirty-five years a member of the Indian civil service, was preparing his book, New India, in which he courageously points out the injustice from which India now suffers. Neither he nor Mr. Naoroji suggests Indian independence. Both believe that English sovereignty should continue, but Mr. Cotton shows the wrongs now inflicted upon India and the necessity for reform. Not only does he charge that the promises of the queen have been ignored and Indians excluded from service for which they were fitted, but he charges that the antagonism between the officials and the people is growing and that there is among civilian magistrates "an undoubted tendency to inflict severe sentences when natives of India are concerned, and to impose light and sometimes inadequate punishment upon offenders of their own race," and that in trials "in which Englishmen are tried by English juries" the result is sometimes "a failure of justice not falling short of judicial scandal." If justice can not be found in the court, where shall she be sought?

After the Indian mutiny, the Queen, in a proclamation, promised that natives should be freely and impartially admitted to offices, "the duties of which they might be qualified by their education, ability and integrity to discharge." Lord Lytton, a viceroy of India, in a confidential document which afterward found its way into print, speaking of the pledges of the sovereign and the parliament of England, said: "We all know that these claims and expectations never can be fulfilled. We have had to choose between prohibiting them (the natives of India) and cheating them, and we have chosen the least straightforward course." And again: "Since I am writing confidentially, I do not hesitate to say that both the governments of England and of India appear to me, up to the present moment, unable to answer satisfactorily the charge of having taken every means in their power of breaking to the heart the words of promise they had uttered to the ear."

The government of India is as arbitrary and despotic as the government of Russia ever was, and in two respects it is worse. First, it is administered by an alien people, whereas the officials of Russia are Russians. Second, it drains a large part of the taxes out of the country, whereas the Russian government spends at home the money which it collects from the people. A third disadvantage might be named since the czar has recently created a legislative body, whereas England continues to deny to the Indians any form of representative or constitutional government. Under British rule there is no official corruption and the government is probably as impartial as an alien government can be expected to be, but British rule has the defects which are inherent in a colonial policy.

The people of India are taxed, but they have no voice in the amount to be collected or in the use to be made of the revenue. They pay into the government nearly two hundred and twenty-five millions of dollars a year, and of this nearly one hundred millions is expended upon an army in which Indians can not be officers. It is not necessary to keep such an army merely to hold the people in subjection, if the Indians are really satisfied with English rule; and if the army is intended to keep Russia from taking India, as is sometimes claimed, why should not the British government bear a part of the burden? Would it not be wiser to so attach the Indian people to the British government that they would themselves resist annexation to Russia?

The home charges, as they are called, absorb practically one-third of the entire revenues. About one hundred million dollars go out of India to England every year, and over fifteen millions are paid to European officials in the civil employ. What nation could stand such a drain without impoverishment?

Taxation is nearly twice as heavy in India as in England, in proportion to the income of the people. Compared with the people of other countries, the Indian's income is, on an average, one-twentieth of the average English income, one-seventh of the average Spaniard's income, one-sixth of the average Italian's income, one-fifth of the (European) Russian's income, and one-half of the income of the Turk. Sir Henry Cotton shows that the average per capita deposit in banks in England is one hundred dollars while the average per capita deposit in India is fifty cents; but how can the Indian be expected to have a large bank account when the average yearly income is only ten dollars? I have, in another article, referred to the jewelry worn by Indian women. The bracelets and anklets are silver except among the poorest, and this was formerly a form of hoarding, but the suspension of the coinage of silver deprived the people of the privilege of converting this hoarded silver into rupees. It will be remembered that the late Senator Wolcott, a member of the monetary commission appointed by President McKinley in 1897, on his return to Europe declared that the suspension of the coinage of silver in India had reduced the value of the savings of the people to the amount of five hundred millions of dollars. The suspension was carried out for the benefit of European interests, regardless of the welfare of the masses.

So great have been the drain, the injustice to the people and the tax upon the resources of the country, that famines have increased in frequency and severity. Mr. Gokhale, one of the ablest of India's public men, presided over the meeting of the last Indian national congress (held in December) and declared in his opening speech that the death rate had steadily risen from twenty-four to the thousand in 1882-4 to thirty in 1892-4 and to thirty-four at the present time. I have more than once within the last month heard the plague referred to as a providential remedy for over-population! Think of it, British rule justified because "it keeps the people from killing each other" and the plague excused because it removes those whom the government has saved from slaughter!

The railroads with all their advantages have been charged with adding to the weight of famine by carrying away the surplus grain in good years, leaving no residue for the years of drouth. While grain can now be carried back more easily in times of scarcity, the people are too poor to buy it with two freights added. The storage of grain by the government at central points until the new crop is safe would bring some relief, but it has not been attempted.

If it is argued that the railroads have raised the price of grain in the interior by furnishing a cheaper outlet to the sea, it must be remembered that the benefit has accrued not to the people, nearly all of whom are tenants, but to the landlords, the government being the largest holder.

Not only are the people being impoverished, but the land is being worn out. Manure, which ought to be used to renew the fields, is consumed as fuel, and no sight is more common in India than that of women and children gathering manure from the roads with their hands. This, when mixed with straw and sun-dried, is used in place of wood, and from the amount of it carried in baskets, it must be one of the chief articles of merchandise. There are now large tracts of useless land that might be brought under cultivation if the irrigation system were extended. Proof of this is to be found in the fact that the government of India has already approved of extensions which, when made, will protect seven million acres and irrigate three million acres. The estimated cost of these extensions is about forty-five million dollars, and the plans are to be carried out "as funds can be provided." Ten per cent of the army expenditure, applied to irrigation, would complete the system within five years, but instead of military expenses being reduced, the army appropriation was increased more than ten million dollars between 1904 and 1905.

Of the total amount raised from taxation each year, about forty per cent is raised from land, and the rate is so heavy that the people can not save enough when the crops are good to feed themselves when the crops are bad. More than ten per cent of the total tax is collected on salt, which now pays about five-eighths of a cent per pound. This is not only a heavy rate when compared with the original cost of the salt; but it is especially burdensome to the poor. The salt tax has been as high as one cent a pound, and when at that rate materially reduced the amount of salt consumed by the people.

The poverty of the people of India is distressing in the extreme; millions live on the verge of starvation all the time, and one would think that their very appearance would plead successfully in their behalf.

The economic wrong done to the people of India explains the political wrong done to them. For more than twenty years an Indian national congress has been pleading for a modified form of representative government—not for a severing of the tie that binds India to Great Britain, but for an increasing voice in their local affairs. But this request can not be granted. Why? Because a local government, composed of natives selected by the people, would protest against so large an army, reduce the taxes and put Indians at lower salaries into places now held by Europeans. It is the fear of what an Indian local government would do that prevents the experiment, although two other reasons, both insufficient, are given. One of these is that the Indian people are not intelligent enough and that they must be protected from themselves by denying them a voice in their own affairs. The other is that the Indians are so divided into tribes and religious sects that they can not act harmoniously together. The first argument will not impress any unprejudiced traveler who has come into contact with the educated classes. There are enough well informed, college trained native Indians, not to speak of those, who, like our own ancestors a few centuries ago, have practical sense and good judgment without book learning, to guide public opinion. While the percentage of literacy is deplorably small, the total number of educated men is really considerable, and there are at this time seventeen thousand students above the secondary schools and studying for the B. A. degree. There is not a district of any considerable size that has not some intelligent men in it, and these could be relied upon to direct the government until a larger number are qualified to assist. It is true that native princes have often seemed indifferent to the welfare of their subjects—Princes who have lived in great luxury while the people have been neglected, but to-day some of the native states vie with those controlled by European officials in education and material advancement. And is not the very fact that the people are left under the government of native princes in the native states conclusive proof that in all the states the government could be administered without the aid of so large a number of Europeans?

The second argument is equally unsound. To say that the Indians would necessarily fight among themselves is to ignore the progress of the world. There was a time when Europe was the scene of bloody religious wars, and our own country is indebted to the persecution of the pilgrims in England for some of its best pioneers. There has been a growth in religious tolerance during the last century, and this is as noticeable in India as elsewhere. Already the intellectual leaders of all the sects and elements of the Indian population are mingling in congresses, conferences and public meetings. Already a national spirit is growing which, like the national spirit in England and America, disregards religious lines and emphasizes more and more the broad social needs which are common to all; and with the increase of general education there will be still more of unity and national sentiment. Those who make this argument also forget that as long as England maintains sovereignty it will be impossible for religious differences to lead to war and that differences in council and in congress would strengthen rather than weaken her position.

But why is there a lack of intelligence among the Indians? Have they not had the blessings of British rule for several generations? Why have they not been fitted for self-government? Gladstone, whose greatness of head and heart shed a lustre upon all Europe, said: "It is liberty alone which fits men for liberty. This proposition, like every other in politics, has its bounds; but it is far safer than the counter doctrine, 'wait till they are fit.'"

How long will it take to fit the Indians for self-government when they are denied the benefits of experience? They are excluded from the higher civil service (ostensibly open to them) by a cunningly devised system of examinations which makes it almost impossible for them to enter. Not only are the people thus robbed of opportunities which rightfully belong to them, but the country is deprived of the accumulated wisdom that would come with service, for the alien officials return to Europe at the end of their service, carrying back their wisdom and earnings, not to speak of the pensions which they then begin to draw.

The illiteracy of the Indian people is a disgrace to the proud nation which has for a century and a half controlled their destiny. The editor of the Indian World, a Calcutta magazine, says in last February's number:

"If India has not yet been fit for free institutions, it is certainly not her fault. If, after one and a half centuries of British rule, India remains where she was in the Middle Ages, what a sad commentary must it be upon the civilizing influences of that rule! When the English came to India, this country was the leader of Asiatic civilization and the undisputed center of light in the Asiatic world; Japan was then nowhere. Now, in fifty years, Japan has revolutionized her history with the aid of modern arts of progress and India, with an hundred and fifty years of English rule, is still condemned to tutelage."

Who will answer the argument presented by this Indian editor? And he might have made it stronger. Japan, the arbiter of her own destiny and the guardian of her own people, has in half a century bounded from illiteracy to a position where ninety per cent of her people can read and write and is now thought worthy to enter into an Anglo-Japanese alliance, while India, condemned to political servitude, and sacrificed for the commercial advantage of another nation, still sits in darkness, less than one per cent of her women able to read and write and less than ten per cent of her total population sufficiently advanced to communicate with each other by letter or to gather knowledge from the printed page. In the speech above referred to, Mr. Gokhale estimates that four villages out of every five are without a school house, and this, too, in a country where the people stagger under an enormous burden of taxation. The published statement for 1904-5 shows that the general government appropriated but six and a half million dollars for education while more than ninety millions were appropriated for "army service," and the revised estimate for the next year shows an increase of a little more than half a million for education while the army received an increase of more than twelve millions.

The government has, it is true, built a number of colleges (with money raised by taxation), but it is gradually extending the system of primary and secondary schools (also with taxes), though the progress is exceedingly slow and the number of schools grossly inadequate. Benevolent Englishmen have also aided the cause of education by establishing private schools and colleges under church and other control, but the amount returned to India in this way is insignificant when compared with the amount annually drawn by England from India.

It is not scarcity of money that delays the spread of education in India, but the deliberate misappropriation of taxes collected, and the system which permits this disregard of the welfare of the subjects and the subordination of their industries to the supposed advancement of another nation's trade is as indefensible upon political and economic grounds as upon moral grounds. If more attention were given to the intellectual progress of the people and more regard shown for their wishes, it would not require so many soldiers to compel loyalty to England, neither would it require a large army to preserve peace and order. If agriculture were protected and encouraged and native industries built up and diversified, England's commerce with India would be greater, for prosperous people would buy more than can be sold to India to-day, when so many of her sons and daughters are like walking shadows.

Lord Curzon, the most brilliant of India's viceroys of recent years, inaugurated a policy of reaction. He not only divided Bengal with a view of lessening the political influence of the great province, but he adopted an educational system which the Indians believe was intended to discourage higher education among the native population. The result, however, was exactly the opposite of that which was intended. It aroused the Indians and made them conscious of the possession of powers which they had not before employed. As the cold autumn wind scatters winged seeds far and wide, so Lord Curzon's administration spread the seeds of a national sentiment, and there is more life in India to-day, and therefore more hope, than there has ever been before. So high has feeling run against the government that there has been an attempted boycott of English made goods, and there is now a well organized movement to encourage the use of goods made in India.

Let no one cite India as an argument in defense of colonialism. On the Ganges and the Indus the Briton, in spite of his many noble qualities and his large contributions to the world's advancement, has demonstrated, as many have before, man's inability to exercise, with wisdom and justice, irresponsible power over helpless people. He has conferred some benefits upon India, but he has extorted a tremendous price for them. While he has boasted of bringing peace to the living, he has led millions to the peace of the grave; while he has dwelt upon order established between warring tribes, he has impoverished the country by legalized pillage. Pillage is a strong word, but no refinement of language can purge the present system of its iniquity. How long will it be before the quickened conscience of England's Christian people will heed the petition that swells up from fettered India and apply to Britain's greatest colony the doctrines of human brotherhood that have given to the Anglo-Saxon race the prestige it now enjoys?

Note—The article on British Rule in India has been severely criticized by the government papers in India and as heartily praised by prominent representatives of the native population. Delegations of Indians called upon me in London, Paris and New York to express their thanks.

In view of this criticism, I give below a few facts in support of the views expressed in the article.

In Whitaker's Almanac for 1906 (published in London), the appropriation for education is given at 1,298,000 pounds in 1902-3, 1,368,000 pounds in 1903-4, and 1,474,000 pounds in 1904-5. The appropriation for army services is given at 17,346,000 pounds for 1902-3, 17,892,000 pounds for 1903-4, and 20,463,000 pounds for 1904-5. (The figures for 1904-5 are described as "revised estimates" in both cases.) Multiplying the pounds by five, it will be seen that the appropriation for education is about seven million dollars and the appropriation for army services (for the last year) about one hundred and two millions. What defense can be made for the expenditure of more than thirteen times as much for the army as for education?

Within a few days after the publication of my article, Hon. John Morley, Secretary for India, delivered a speech in Parliament upon the Indian budget. The following quotations show that he has made the same criticism on three important matters. First, on the salt tax. He says:

"But for my part I cannot regard, and I will not regard with satisfaction, or even with patience, the continuance at a high scale of a tax on a prime necessity of life. (Cheers.)"

And again:

"It is not that the Indian is more heavily burdened in the matter of the salt duty than the Italian. But, however that may be, I am glad to think that the very able and expert financial member of the Viceroy's council hopes to make further reduction in the duty, even though he cannot go so far as I should like to go, and sweep the thing away altogether. (Cheers.)"

On the expenditure for the army, he says:

"So far, I have given a rose-colored—I hope a true colored—picture. In military expenditure, however, we have the shadow. Comparing broadly 1906-7 with the figures of ten years ago, there is an increase in the strength of the army of four thousand one hundred and forty seven men. In 1896-7 the number was two hundred and twenty-seven thousand men and in 1906-7, two hundred and thirty-one thousand five hundred men. But the remarkable circumstance comes out that in British cavalry and infantry there is no increase. The only important addition to the fighting strength of the army are an increase in our artillery and an increase in the number of British officers to the tune of one thousand. That is a large and costly addition, but I will not argue it now. The net army expenditure in India, British and native, in 1896-7, was fifteen million pounds; the estimate for 1906-7 is eighteen million seven hundred thousand pounds—an increase of three million seven hundred thousand pounds. (This is an estimate of the net expenditure, the Whitaker estimate is gross.) This has to be divided into two equal items of one million eight hundred and fifty thousand pounds for ordinary and special military expenditure. I invite the House to attend to one element in the increase in the ordinary expenditure. The House will remember that the late government found it necessary to grant additional pay to the non-commissioned officers and men in the British army in India. Those were circumstances for which neither the Government nor the governed in India had a shadow of responsibility. They were not responsible for those social circumstances which made it necessary to add to the pay of the British soldier, but the increase of pay in the British contingent of the Indian military force was saddled on India to the tune of nearly a million sterling."

On higher civil service he confesses the injustice done the Indians. He says:

"In regard to the question of the employment of Indians in the higher offices, I think a move—a definite and deliberate move—ought to be made with the view of giving competent and able natives the same access to the higher posts in the administration that are given to our own countrymen. (Cheers.) There is a famous sentence in the Queen's proclamation of 1858 which says:—'It is our further will that, so far as may be, our subjects, of whatever race or creed, be freely and impartially admitted to offices in our service-offices, the duties of which they may be qualified by their educational talents and ability duly to discharge.' I think those words, 'so far as may be,' have been somewhat misinterpreted in the past. I do not believe that the ministers who advised Queen Victoria in framing one of the most memorable documents in all our history meant those words to be construed in a narrow, literal, restricted or pettifogging sense. (Cheers.) I do not believe that parliament ever intended this promise of the Queen's should be construed in any but a liberal and generous sense. The Governor-General of India to-day is, I am glad to say, a man of a firm texture of mind. I do not believe the Governor-General has any intention of riding off on a narrow interpretation of a promise which was as wise and politic as it was just. (Hear, hear.) I do not know if there is any case in history of an autocratic, personal or absolute government co-existing with free speech and free right of meeting. For as long a time as my poor imagination can pierce through, for so long a time our government in India must partake, and in no small degree, of the personal and absolute element. But that is no reason why we should not try this great experiment of showing that you can have a strong and effective administration along with free speech and free institutions, and being all the better and all the more effective because of free speech and free institutions. (Cheers.) That policy is a noble one to think of, but the task is arduous; and because it is noble and because it is arduous, I recommend the policy, of which I have only given a broad outline, to the adoption of the House." (Cheers.)

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We have been moving among the oldest monuments reared by man, and they make the rest of the world seem young. In Japan a Buddhist temple, built twelve hundred years ago, impressed us with the youthfulness of American institutions; in China we were shown temples that had stood for twenty centuries and were told of customs and laws even older; in India we found a pagoda some twenty-five hundred years old, and visited the site of a city whose foundations were probably laid more than three thousand years ago; but here we see the mummied forms of human beings who lived two thousand years before Christ was born, inspect the handiwork of men who laid down the chisel before Abraham appeared upon the earth, look upon colors that have withstood the changes and defied the elements of forty centuries, and handle wheat that grew upon the banks of the Nile long before Joseph built granaries for Pharaoh. The guides count centuries as trippingly on the tongue as a treasury expert or an insurance magnate handles millions. They discuss dynasties that rose and fell when Europe was shrouded in darkness, before the light of history dawned upon the Ganges and the Yangtse; they decipher hieroglyphics that kept their secrets for ages and lead one among ruins that astonish by their immensity as well as by the artistic skill which they reveal.

Back in the misty past—in the prehistoric period—there were two Egyptian kingdoms, one occupying upper, and the other lower Egypt. This was prior to 2,500 B. C., and from the stirring scenes engraved upon stone, one can imagine the conflicts which took place along the fertile valley of the Nile before Menes, the earliest known ruler, united the two kingdoms, assumed the title, Lord of Both Lands, fashioned a double crown for himself, and adopted the lily, or lotus, and the papyrus as symbols of his consolidated empire. We are probably indebted to certain natural peculiarities of Egypt for the preservation of the unique evidences of ancient civilization found here. First, there is but a small area of tillable land stretched along the most wonderful of rivers and guarded on either side by a barren waste that offers greater protection than a wall. Second, the climate of Egypt is dry, and there are no drenching rains to deface and no violent changes of temperature to disintegrate. Third, the temples and tombs are so massively built as to discourage the vandal; and fourth, the sands of the desert have drifted in and concealed for a hundred generations many of the most valuable of these relics of a bygone age.

There is such a wealth of archæological treasures here that one scarcely knows where to begin or how to condense the most important things into the space allotted to a newspaper article. I shall not attempt to describe things chronologically, because some of the temples have been added to by different kings and dynasties, until they represent the art and life of many hundred years. The temple at Karnak, for instance, bears the impress of Egypt's rulers from Thutmosis to the Rameses, and from the Rameses to the Ptolemies, a period of some twelve hundred years, and the building of the numerous pyramids covered even a longer time.

As the tourist usually begins a trip through Egypt with a visit to Cairo, he is likely to find the great Egyptian museum, the Museum of Gizeh, a fitting introduction to his subsequent investigations. Here one finds samples of all the antiquities of the country, excepting the pyramids and the temples, and there are mummies, sarcophagi, statues, carvings and hieroglyphics from these. A considerable space is devoted to mummies, some from the tombs of kings, but many of more humble rank. The early Egyptians believed that man was composed of several different entities. First, there was the body, and second, the double—a sort of invisible form reproducing the features of the body. Next came the soul, represented as a human-headed bird and then a spark of the divine fire called Khu, which has been translated as "the Luminous." It was to prevent the departure of these attending forms that embalming was resorted to. By suspending the decomposition of the body, they thought that they could preserve the connection between it and the Double, the Soul and the Luminous, and by prayers and offerings these could be saved from the second death. This is the explanation of the mummy given by archæologists. The Double, it was supposed, never left the place where the mummy rested, and the Soul, while it went away to commune with the gods, returned from time to time, and for this reason rooms were made for the reception of the Soul and for the habitation of the Double. One can hardly believe as he looks upon the shriveled forms that they were interred so long ago. I will enclose with this article a photograph of the mummy of Egypt's great builder, and known as "the Pharaoh of the Oppression," who died more than three thousand years ago. The hand no longer sways the scepter; the eyes look no more upon the gigantic statues which he scattered along the Nile, and the voice does not now demand the making of "bricks without straw," but the mortal remains of this famous ruler vividly recall the days of Israel's bondage.

With the mummies are many mummy cases, some covered with hieroglyphics, some ornamented with pictures in colors, and most of them covered with a lid upon which are a face mask and an outline of the form of the occupant. The process by which these bodies have been preserved is still a mystery, but the fact that they have outlived dynasties and survived the countless changes of so many centuries gives to them a lasting interest. The collection of statues and images of gods, human beings, beasts and birds runs up into the thousands. Some of these are heroic in size, others are not more than an inch in height; some are strong, some beautiful and some grotesque. Granite, both red and black, alabaster, stone, iron, bronze and clay—all have been brought into requisition for this work. Some of the bronze has, upon analysis, been found to contain practically the same combination of metals as the bronze now used. There are even statues in wood, and one of these—a photograph of which I secured—attracted my attention because the head and face bear a resemblance to the late Senator Hanna. It is called "Sheikh el Beled" or Village Chief; that it should have resisted decay for more than forty centuries is little less than marvelous.

While the excavators have been searching for historical records, they have occasionally found treasures of great pecuniary value. A considerable quantity of gold and silver in the form of jewelry has been unearthed, and the museum contains specimens of exquisite workmanship which not only display the skill of the artificers but portray the habits and customs of the early Egyptians.

The museum also contains enough of cloth, found with the mummies, and of pictures of looms, to show that weaving was an industry with which the people of those days were familiar.

But we must leave the museum and proceed to those masterpieces which are too large for any roof, save that formed by the vaulted skies. I am, however, constrained to offer one criticism of the museum in passing. It is under the control of a French society, and the only catalogue obtainable is printed in French. While most of the exhibits bear a brief description in both French and English, some are labeled in French only and a few not at all. As there are no guides to show a visitor through the numerous rooms and point out the principal objects of interest, those who are unable to read French are at a great disadvantage. Considering the number of English and American tourists it seems strange that more attention should not be paid to their accommodation.

But to the temples. We reached Egypt after the regular tourist season was over and could not visit all the ruins. We selected the most famous, those of the two ancient cities, Thebes and Memphis, and they alone would repay a visit to Egypt. The present city of Luxor, four hundred and twenty miles from Cairo, covers a small part of the vast area once occupied by "Hundred-gated Thebes." In the very heart of the city a mammoth temple has been found where kings worshiped through many reigns. It was built during the eighteenth dynasty (B. C. 1500) on the site of a still older sanctuary and dedicated to Ammon, his wife, Mut, and their son, Khons, the Moon-god. Some of the columns are twelve feet in diameter, more than forty feet in height, and support great blocks of red granite twenty feet long and four feet in width and thickness. Some of the columns represent clustered papyrus and have capitals shaped like the lotus bud. In the temple are a number of statues of Rameses II, some sitting, some standing. One of these statues is forty-five feet in height, and another of less dimensions was unearthed only about a year ago. When excavations were begun houses were serenely resting on the top of the temple, and it is believed that further excavations will disclose an avenue leading to other temples two miles away.

In front of the Luxor temple is an obelisk of pink granite, a part of which is still under ground. Obelisks were always erected in pairs, and the companion of this one was removed some years ago to Paris. These great monoliths come down to us from the period when the Egyptians worshiped the sun, and they were intended to represent his rays. The oldest Egyptian obelisk is at Heliopolis, not far from Cairo, and is sixty-six feet in height. It is supposed to have been erected 2000 to 2200 B. C., but it is in an excellent state of preservation and bids fair to bear testimony for ages yet to the reverence felt by the ancients for the sun. At one time Heliopolis was a thriving city and is referred to in the Bible as "On," but to-day the obelisk stands alone in the midst of cultivated fields, all the buildings having disappeared.

While the obelisk at Heliopolis outranks all others in age, the one at Karnak, in the suburbs of Luxor, has the distinction of being the tallest one yet remaining. It is eight and a half feet in diameter at the base and ninety-seven and a half feet in height (eight and a half feet less than the obelisk at Rome). The obelisks were cut in a single shaft, most of them from granite quarries near Assuan. These quarries are more than five hundred miles south of Cairo, and it is supposed that the obelisks were transported on the Nile to the places where they have since been found, but how they were handled or placed in position no one knows.

The temple of Ammon, at Karnak, is generally regarded as the most interesting of temple-ruins in Egypt. It is the work of many kings, one adding a sanctuary, another a pylon, another a court, etc.—each placing his cartouche, or seal, upon his work. This temple, which was officially styled the Throne of the World, covers an immense area. One pylon, or gateway, is more than three hundred feet wide, nearly a hundred and fifty feet high, and has walls sixteen feet thick. One court covers almost a thousand square yards, and one aisle leads between pillars sixty-nine feet in height, about twelve feet in diameter and supporting capitals of eleven feet. The stones used in this temple are of enormous size, and they were probably raised to their positions on scaffolding of earth—this being also the method employed where attempts have recently been made to restore fallen columns.

The hieroglyphics upon the walls, the columns, the obelisks and the statues, after remaining a puzzle for ages, have been deciphered and woven into a consecutive history. This was made possible by the discovery, in 1799, of what is known as the "Rosetta stone" (now in the British Museum) at the mouth of the Rosetta arm of the Nile by a French engineer named Bouchard. This stone bears a decree inscribed in three languages—ancient Egyptian, modern Egyptian and Greek, and furnishes the key to unlock the secrets of ancient history.

The pictures represent sacrificial ceremonies, domestic and industrial scenes, battles, triumphal processions—all phases of life, in fact. One wall contains, in hieroglyphics, the treaty of peace which Rameses II concluded with the Hittites, while another wall represents Rameses III holding a group of prisoners by the hair and raising a club as if to strike. Close by, the god Ammon is delivering to him chained representatives of different vanquished nations, the faces being so true to life that the Israelities brought from Palestine can be easily distinguished from the Ethiopians and Nubians of the south. One of the heads seen often in the drawings resembles "the yellow kid," and the donkeys are exactly like those seen to-day.

Luxor and Karnak are on the east bank of the Nile, but Thebes required both sides of the river for her great population, and the west bank is also rich in evidences of ancient civilization. The Rameseum is here and would attract more attention if it were not overshadowed by larger temples; here also are the "Colossi of Memmon," one of them known to literature as the singing statue. This is described by Strabo and Juvenal and bears many inscriptions in Latin and Greek made by those who visited it under the Roman rule. Hadrian looked upon it 150 A. D., and a poetess of his day declares that the statue greeted the emperor. It is supposed that the sound which for many years issued from the head of the statue just after sunrise was caused by the change in temperature, the granite having been cracked; at any rate, the sound ceased when the statue was repaired. It now sits silent, and with its companion gazes upon the barley field that reaches out in every direction from their feet.

But more interesting than the Rameseum or the Colossi are the tombs of the kings, some forty-two of which have already been discovered. At this point the west side of the valley of the Nile is walled in by a range of limestone hills, one of which bears a striking resemblance to a pyramid. (Could it have suggested the idea of a pyramid for a tomb?) Leaving the valley of the Nile about two miles north of this pyramidal hill, there is a small dry valley which wends its way back through the hills and terminates at the foot of steep walls just west of the hill mentioned. Here are the tombs, hewn in the solid rock, the most elaborate of which is the tomb of Sethos, or Seti, the father of Rameses II. This tomb burrows into the hill to the depth of three hundred and thirty feet, a flight of steps leading down through different levels and different chambers to the final vault. The walls are covered with figures in colors representing the king in the act of making offerings to the various gods. There are also drawings illustrating scenes in this world and life as it is supposed to be in the next world. Some of these pictures portray a hell where the wicked are punished with fire, and there are also drawings which have been interpreted to represent the resurrection and judgment.

Not far away is the tomb of "the Pharaoh of the Exodus" which contains a granite image of the king, and close by this tomb is another in which the mummied form of a Pharaoh still reposes. Grave robbing, however, was so popular an amusement in those days that the bodies of nearly all the kings had been removed for safety to a secret vault, which was so carefully concealed that they were not found until the nineteenth century.

At Memphis, which is only about eighteen miles from Cairo, there are tombs of less importance, colossal statues of Rameses II and the sarcophagi of the sacred bulls. In one of the tombs or Mastabas, as tombs of this style are called, are some of the drawings that have been most widely reproduced. In one place a boy is fattening geese by the stuffing process; in another, cranes are being fed; here, rams are treading in the seed, and the cattle, horned and hornless, are being driven through a river. Agriculture, ship-building, carpentering and other industries are minutely pictured. While the human figures are stiff and angular, the birds and beasts are so exactly like what we see to-day that one could easily believe them to have been drawn by a modern artist.

The sarcophagi of the sacred bulls, twenty-four in number, are hollowed out from single pieces of granite and are covered with immense slabs of the same kind of stone. Each is large enough to contain a good sized animal, and some of them are covered with hieroglyphics giving the pedigrees of the blue-blooded occupants. These caskets of the royal line rest in subterranean vaults hewn out of rock and connected by spacious halls.

Still nearer to Cairo, only six miles away, in fact, are the great pyramids of Gizeh—Cheops and Khephren. These have been described so often that any elaborate comment upon them might weary the reader. We climbed to the summit of the largest, and by doing so not only gained an idea of the immensity of this three million cubic feet of stone, but obtained an excellent view of the green valley on the one side and the yellow plain of shifting sand upon the other, for these pyramids stand upon the dividing line between Egypt's far famed fertile lands and one of the most barren of earth's deserts. We also followed the narrow passage which leads to the center of the pyramid and peered into the empty granite sarcophagus which, for more than four thousand years, kept the body of the builder concealed from the sight of man, and when we came out, half crawling and half climbing, each assisted by two Arabs, our muscles as well as our memories testified that we had seen all of this stupendous pile.

At the foot of these two pyramids stands the silent Sphinx, and near it a granite temple almost as old. The Sphinx itself is a little disappointing because photographs often show it in the foreground and the pyramids behind it, and it thus appears relatively larger than it really is. It represents the body of an animal with a human head and is cut from a huge stone that juts out into the valley. It was a grand conception of the brain of one long ago forgotten and is the oldest product of the chisel of man. It has outlived unnumbered generations and seems to mock at time. Its position by the pyramids is a fitting one, and looking upon it and them one is awed by the sense of their antiquity and recognizes the appropriateness of the lines of the lecturer, Stoddard:

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The first article on Egypt might have been begun with an account of our stay in quarantine, but as this precaution against the spread of Asiatic disease is of modern origin, I thought it best to speak of it in this article. The P. and O. steamer, Persia, which brought us from Bombay to Egypt, was suspected of having four cases of plague on board. One man having died and been buried at sea just before we reached Suez, and three more being ill, the international health board insisted on taking charge of the ten passengers bound for Egypt. We were taken on board a barge and towed a couple of miles up the Suez canal to the quarantine station, which we reached about midnight. Besides the four in our family, there were three Americans from Ohio, two English merchants from Egypt and an English lady engaged in missionary work in Palestine. We were comfortably housed in one-story brick buildings and were informed that we would have to remain there five days, unless further investigation removed the suspicion of the plague. While the members of the company proved to be very congenial, we were all anxious to have the stay shortened as much as possible on account of its interference with our plans. At the end of two days we were notified that a bubonic germ had been discovered and that we must stay the full time. The quarantine station is situated on the bank of the canal and is surrounded on three sides by as barren a desert as can be found. The buildings are enclosed by a double fence, and the only exit is to the wharf through a lane. We were permitted to go to the wharf, and, under the escort of a guard, were allowed to gather shells on the bank of the canal. Thus occupied, when not reading or writing, the days passed much more pleasantly than we had expected, and we were almost sorry when the time came for us to separate. One day our quarters were visited by a sirocco, and from the dust and sand that filled the air until the sun was darkened, we were able to gain some idea of desert life.

The canal itself is a little disappointing. It is simply a huge ditch, and with an expanse of sand on either bank, seems narrower than it is. The sides are not walled as a rule, and the depth—thirty feet—does not reveal itself. Several dredges are constantly at work removing the sand which drifts in with the wind or is washed in by the tide. The canal is said to follow the route laid out more than three thousand years ago by Rameses II. About thirty-five hundred ships pass through the canal each year, an average of nearly ten a day. Somewhat more than that passed during our stay, some of the ships being loaded with Russian soldiers from Japan and others crowded with pilgrims returning from Mecca.

On the afternoon of the fifth day the head physician came out and released us and at the same time conveyed to us the cheering, but somewhat belated, information that the three men taken from the ship did not have the plague; we had, however, been so courteously treated that we did not complain of the board bills or quarantine fees, even though the detention proved to be unnecessary. The spread of the plague through Europe would be such a calamity that we realize it is better to err on the side of over-caution. At any rate, we have added to our experience and are carrying the yellow flag (the quarantine signal) home as a trophy.

A few hours' ride brought us to Cairo, the metropolis and capital of Egypt. It is not an ancient city, as they count time in Egypt, having been founded about a thousand years ago, but it has in the business portion the appearance of a European city and contains a population of more than half a million. Of its inhabitants thirty-five thousand are European, the Greeks leading with about ten thousand, and the Italians, French, English, Austrians and Germans following in the order named. The British would outnumber the French if the garrison were included, but the city reminds one much more of France than of England. Many of the buildings recall the streets of Paris, and the sidewalks adjacent to restaurants and saloons are filled with tables and chairs, as in continental Europe.

Cairo is a city of mosques and minarets, as one quickly discovers when he takes a bird's eye view of the city from the citadel which stands upon an eminence in the suburbs. While the main streets are suggestive of Europe, the native quarters and bazaars are distinctly Oriental, many of the streets being too narrow for a carriage. The shops are for the most part little open booths, and each line of business has its particular section. On one street silver and gold smiths monopolize the space; another street is gay with red shoes; in another the red fez, the universal hat, is conspicuous; and still another is given over to vegetables. Some of the larger stores handle Persian rugs, silks, brass ware, inlaid work and patchwork, reproducing the drawings found on tombs and temples. The bazaars also abound in interesting reminders of the land of the mummy, the pyramid and the sphinx.

We had not been in Cairo long before we visited the banks of the Nile, that wonderful river without whose fructifying waters there would have been no Egypt. It is one of the most remarkable—in some respects the most remarkable—of all the rivers of the earth. No wonder the ancient Egyptians included a Nile god among their deities, for next to the sun, to which they raised their obelisks, nothing was so necessary to their existence as this almost magic stream. The Nile renders fertile two narrow strips, one on either bank, four thousand miles long, and but a few miles wide. For thirteen hundred miles it floats through a desert and receives but a single tributary in that distance, and yet, after supplying irrigation for the crops of some ten millions of people, it pours into the ocean a scarcely diminished stream. The annual rise of the river not only supplies water but it renews the land by deposits of alluvial soil. Someone has described the Nile valley as appearing, if seen from above, like a strip of green carpet on a floor of gold, so yellow are the sands that hem it in. No one who has not visited an arid country and noted the influence of water upon the thirsty soil can imagine how distinctly the line is drawn between the verdant field and the barren desert that adjoins it. Where the waters of the Nile can be brought upon the land, a farm will rent for $30 per acre, while a few feet away the land can not be given away. Lord Cromer, in a recent report, gives the income and expenditure of a number of the fellaheen, or farmers. The statements show that a hundred dollars' worth of cotton is sometimes produced from a single acre, or about thirty dollars' worth of corn. The average income, taking all crops together, often runs as high as $50 per acre.

An increasing quantity of land is being brought under the canals, but irrigation from wells is still the main reliance of a large proportion of the people. Water can be found at the level of the water in the river, and the landscape is dotted over with old-fashioned well sweeps and with water wheels, where blindfolded camels or oxen tread their patient round. The land produces so abundantly and there is such a variety of garden and farm products that one recalls that passage in the Bible in which the children of Israel are described as longing for "the flesh pots of Egypt." Coming from India to Egypt we could not but notice the difference in the appearance of the people. In the former country they looked so emaciated and hungry; in the latter they are strong and robust and seemingly well fed. In the markets, too, the food is heaped up in big baskets, while in India it is exposed for sale in tiny piles that speak only too plainly of the poverty of the people.

For ages upon ages the fellaheen have drawn from the inexhaustible storehouse of the Nile. Cheops, Khephren and their successors built pyramids, and the fellah fed the builders; Thutmosis and Sethos and their descendants constructed tombs and temples, and the fellah supported the laborers; the Rameses added gigantic statues to the stupendous works of their ancestors and the fellah still furnished food; the Persians overran the country and still the hand of the fellah supplied the necessaries of life; then came Alexander the Great and the Ptolemies, Cæsar, Antony and Cleopatra, and the fellah plowed on; after the Roman came the Arab, and after the Arab the Turk, followed by Napoleon and later by the Briton, but through all this change of dynasties the fellah kept "the noiseless tenor of his way," and as a middle man, handed over the bounties of the Nile valley to the rulers and their armies—and he is doing so to-day. Of the eleven hundred thousand land owners, nearly nine hundred and fifty thousand hold less than five acres each, and almost half of the total acreage is owned by twelve thousand three hundred persons. More than one-tenth of the tillable land is owned by sixteen hundred Europeans.

Very few horses are seen in the country, the beasts of burden being the ox (there are a few water buffaloes also), the donkey and the camel. The ox resembles the American rather than the Indian ox, in that it has no hump on its shoulders and the drawings on some of the walls represent cattle with horns as large as those formerly worn by the Texas steer. The donkey—poor, patient creature—has not changed materially in the last four thousand years. The pictures drawn of him by the ancient Egyptians show him just as he is now. Then, as now, a large part of his nourishment went to the development of his vocal organs and left the rest of his body woefully small for the large burdens which he was called upon to carry. If his disposition was as gloomy in the days of the Pharaohs as it is at present, he probably annoyed them when he lifted up his voice and wept, as he now annoys the tourist.

The camel, however, if the test is special fitness for the country, is the king of beasts. He pulls the plow, turns the water wheel, draws the wagon, carries burdens, and for long distance travel outstrips the horse. Equipped with emergency water tanks, he can go for several days without drinking, and for this reason is of inestimable value on desert journeys. He kneels to receive his load, though sometimes with pathetic groans, and is as docile as the horse. He has sometimes been styled "the ship of the desert" and seems to have been fashioned for this peculiar region. His large, padded feet do not add to his beauty, but they enable him to cross sandy plains into which a horse's hoof would sink.

The Bible says that the plague of flies brought upon Egypt, when Moses was endeavoring to secure the release of the Israelites, was removed when Pharaoh promised to let the people go, but one is inclined to think that they afterwards returned when Pharaoh again hardened his heart, for nowhere have we found flies like those of Egypt. They bite with unusual vigor and are very persistent in their attentions. At first we thought it strange that people should carry horse-hair brushes as a protection against the flies, but we were soon driven to follow their example. These flies seem to be especially attracted to the eyes of children. As these flies, like those in other countries, carry disease, it is not strange that sore eyes should be especially prevalent here. Blindness seems to be more common than elsewhere, and a very considerable percentage of the people have lost one eye. So widespread is this affliction that Sir Ernest Cassel has established a fund of forty thousand pounds, the interest on which is to be devoted to the treatment of diseases of the eye. Already the fruits of this beneficence are being enjoyed by the poor. The Mohammedan women in Egypt wear veils—a custom which is but slowly giving way to western ideas. If the eyes of the children were protected with half as much care as the faces of the women, what benefits would result!

The government of Egypt defies definition. Nominally the Khedive is the supreme authority, aided by a native legislative council and assembly (their business is to advise, however, rather than to legislate), but back of the Khedive is Lord Cromer, the agent and consul-general of England, whose power is undefined and almost unlimited. England's authority in Egypt rests upon the articles of capitulation signed after the bombardment of Alexandria in 1882. In these articles it was announced that England's occupancy would be of brief duration, but in 1904 she secured from France, Germany, Austria-Hungary and Italy consent to postpone the fixing of a date for her withdrawal, she at the same time announcing that it was not her intention to interfere with the political situation in Egypt. England's reasons for remaining in Egypt are very clearly stated by Lord Milner in his book entitled "England in Egypt." He says: "On the one hand, our commercial interests in Egypt are so great and growing that her prosperity, which would be immediately wrecked by misgovernment, is a matter of concern to us. Secondly, and chiefly, the geographical position of Egypt compels attention to her political condition. We have nothing to gain by owning the country ourselves, but we should have a great deal to fear from its falling into the possession of another power."

England's interests in Egypt are numerous. She takes most of the exports of Egypt and sells more than any other country to Egypt. In the last report of Lord Cromer it is shown that Great Britain has the benefit of considerably more than half of the contracts (above five thousand dollars) entered into by the Egyptian railways for supplies. Then, England's citizens own land in Egypt, and they are also interested in the Egyptian debt, which, by the way, amounts to about five hundred million dollars or, approximately, one hundred dollars per acre of the tillable land.

The irrigation schemes now developing will require the expenditure of large sums on contract and these will give opportunities for English capital.

The second reason given by Lord Milner is emphasized by him, and is probably the paramount one, viz., that she can not afford to have the valley of the Nile held by a rival power. Her interests in the Soudan and in India lead her to guard the Suez canal with jealous care. Lord Milner suggests as a reason why England should remain in Egypt that her withdrawal might be followed by such an abuse of government as to lead to bankruptcy and French intervention. The old argument "if we don't do it somebody else will" is presented as the strongest support of British interference.

English influence, however, has been less harmful in Egypt than in India, and this is probably due, in the main, to two causes: First, her influence is exerted through a native government whose authority she acknowledges; and second, because the interests, which other nations have in Egypt, make them oppose any encroachments on the part of England, while in India she has a free hand. As an illustration I might cite the fact that she compels the Indian to support the Indian army, while she pays the ordinary expenses of the three thousand British soldiers in Egypt and only asks Egypt to pay for the extraordinary expenses. It is no reflection upon England to say that she is better for being watched. We believe that in regard to our own public men, and it is simply a recognition of the frailty of human nature. Lord Cromer has been in Egypt for twenty-six years, and his reports indicate a desire to advance the welfare of the people of Egypt. He has doubtless been helpful to the Khedive. He has insisted upon honesty in the public service and has been a friend of education. While the national debt contains a large amount of usurious interest and is, therefore, much heavier than it ought to be, it has been funded at a lower rate of interest and is being gradually paid off. The debts that are being incurred for the extension of irrigation will be more than redeemed by the sale of the land reclaimed, and the country will then have the benefit, not only of the reclaimed land but of the increased value of lands indirectly benefited. Although the salt tax (contrary to Lord Cromer's advice) is still over two hundred per cent, the per capita rate of taxation has been reduced; agricultural and postal banks have been established, and the government railway, telegraph and telephone systems have been extended. In his 1903 report, Lord Cromer presents an argument in favor of government roads as against roads owned privately.

The great danger that Egypt has to fear is the disinheritance of the fellaheen and the alien ownership of the land. Unless great care is taken Egypt will drift into the condition of Ireland and India, and be drained of her resources by foreign landlords. It is very difficult for a foreign representative to arbitrate impartially between his own people at home and the natives among whom he temporarily resides, and Lord Cromer will deserve great credit if he is able to protect the Egyptians from exploitation. However well meaning the English advisers are now, or hereafter may be, Egypt's safety must lie in the development of her own people. The legislative council understands this and insists upon the extension of the school system. It is wise in so doing, for every educated man or woman adds to the moral force that restrains and directs the government. An increase in the number of the educated not only tends to the preservation of law and order, but furnishes a larger number fit to be officials and thus lessens the excuse for the employment of foreigners. There has been, among reformers, some discussion of a constitution, but as that would curtail the powers of the Khedive as well as define the authority of England, it would probably be opposed at present by the Moslem leaders.

I can not conclude without reference to the pioneer work done in the field of education by the United Presbyterians. They have several churches and a number of very successful schools and must be credited with having contributed largely to the progress which Egypt has made and is making.

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Before writing of the Holy Land, I shall devote an article to the week which we spent among the Lebanons. While the trip from Beyrout to Baalbek and Damascus is included in the advertisement of Palestine tours, the places visited are not so intimately connected with Bible history as those of Judea and Galilee.

Beyrout, the seaport for this section of Syria, has the best harbor to be found on the east coast of the Mediterranean, and the city is naturally a place of considerable size and importance. The population is estimated at about one hundred and fifty thousand, and the residence portion covers the foothills of the Lebanon range. The principal industry is the production of raw silk, the mulberry groves extending as far as the eye can reach.

The road from Beyrout to Baalbek climbs over the Lebanon range, reaching in one place an altitude of about six thousand feet. The view is one of rare beauty—the winding shore of the Mediterranean, the terraced mountain sides and the snow clad peaks combining to form an impressive picture. The far-famed cedars of Lebanon, some of them sixteen feet in diameter, still crown the higher summits, but few of them are visible from the train. A well built carriage road follows the same general course as the railroad, but the latter now monopolizes the traffic. The main line of the railroad runs to Damascus, but in the Beka, as the valley of the Leontes is called at this point, a branch has been built to Baalbek, where a wonderful temple once stood.

The city of Baalbek was founded so long ago that history does not record its beginning. Arab tradition peoples this district with the earliest of the Bible characters. The tower of Babel has been located at Baalbek by one tradition, while another has Cain building a fortress there as a refuge. It is certain that the city ranks among the oldest known to history, the location being probably determined by the presence of a very large spring whose waters would supply a great population. The name of the city (but a few thousand inhabitants are to be found there now) indicates that it was the center of Baal, or sun, worship. It is believed by those who have made research that an ancient temple, built by the Egyptians or Phœnicians, occupied the ground now covered by the ruins of a later temple built by the Romans. It is this latter temple which has drawn tourists from all over the world. It was begun during the first century of the Christian era, and the work upon it continued for more than two hundred years. It was dedicated to Jupiter and the Sun, the worship of these two deities being combined. The Romans even adopted the Greek name, Heliopolis, for the city, but the Arabic designation, Baalbek, has survived.

This great temple was laid out upon an immense scale. First a hill was built, filled with subterranean chambers, and upon the massive walls which separated these chambers the superstructure was reared. The temple was approached by a staircase one hundred and fifty feet wide and entered through a hexagonal court two hundred feet in diameter. Next came the great court, nearly four hundred feet square, with an altar in the center. Both of these courts were open, but had broad colonnades around the sides supported by granite pillars brought from the upper Nile. These colonnades were ornamented with carvings and contained two rows of niches, three hundred and thirty altogether, formerly occupied by images. Our guide, Mr. Alouf, whose pamphlet on Baalbek gives the results of his fifteen years' study of the ruins, insists that the great court was really a pantheon and contained all of the gods at that time worshiped by the conquerors and by the native population.

The temple of Jupiter must have been a most impressive building. It stood twenty-six feet above the courts and therefore about fifty feet above the natural level of the ground around. It measured three hundred and ten feet in length and one hundred and sixty in breadth. Its outer wall supported fifty-four columns of Corinthian style, each column being seventy feet in height, seven feet in diameter and composed of three pieces. Six of these columns are still standing, having survived three earthquakes and one mountain torrent. The six columns with the capitals and cornice give some idea of the magnificence of the temple before its decay. The stone used is taken from a limestone quarry near the city, and the carving is excellent. Enormous masses of stone lie scattered over the ground—parts of pillars, pieces of cornice, and sections of the pediment. How these huge blocks were ever lifted into place is still a matter of conjecture. No mortar was used, and yet in some places the joints are so nicely fitted and the stone so accurately cut that a knife blade can not be inserted after a lapse of nearly twenty centuries.

Stupendous as is the plan of this wonderful temple and elaborate as is its ornamentation, the most remarkable feature is the size of the stones employed. The guide first shows a number of blocks about thirty-three feet long, fourteen feet high and ten feet thick. After one's wonder has had sufficient time to express itself, three blocks are pointed out which measure sixty-four feet in length, fourteen feet in height and twelve feet in thickness. The estimated weight of one of these stones is nearly one thousand tons, and it is calculated that it would require ten thousand horse power to lift it. At the quarry about three-quarters of a mile away a companion block, seventy-two feet long and about fifteen feet in height and thickness is to be seen, chiseled from the stone about it, but not entirely separated from the stratum beneath it. This was probably intended for the sustaining wall around the temple. Whether it remained at the quarry because the work was interrupted, or because the builders despaired of being able to move it, is a secret which the living are not able to reveal. After the decline of paganism the Christians built a church in the great court, using the stones and pillars for the walls. Then came the Mohammedans and turned the courts and temple into a fortress, making use of the walls of the church.

A little way distant from the great temple is a smaller temple dedicated to Bacchus, which would of itself be sufficient to distinguish a city, but for its more famous rival. This temple is about two hundred and twenty-five feet long by one hundred and ten feet wide, and a row of fifty columns, of which fourteen are fluted, surround it. These columns are sixty feet in height and about six feet in diameter. While smaller in its dimensions this temple is even more elaborately carved than the larger one. Some of the clusters of grapes are less than two inches in length but exquisitely wrought. This temple is in a much better state of preservation than the great temple and is therefore in some respects even more interesting.

Emperor William of Germany visited Baalbek in 1898 and was so impressed by the ruins that he obtained permission from the sultan to clear away the debris, and the traveling world is under obligations to him for having made it possible to inspect the foundations and the ground plan. In this connection it may be added that Emperor William seems to take a deep interest in this part of Asia. He visited Jerusalem to lay the corner stone of the German church; he sent to Damascus a beautiful bronze wreath to adorn the tomb of the great Mohammedan general, Saladin, and he has encouraged the establishment of German colonies in Palestine. There are German settlements of considerable size at Jerusalem, Joppa, and Haifa. At four places we found German hotels, and it is needless to say that they are kept with the excellence characteristic of the race.

The friendship which the emperor has shown for the sultan seems to be reciprocated, for roads were built, harbors improved and many other things done in honor of his visit. We have heard all sorts of rumors as to the kaiser's intentions, but the only thing that seems certain is that German influence in this part of Asia is increasing.

While Baalbek contains the largest and most famous ruins, it is not the only place that attracts the archæologist. There are hundreds of sites of ancient cities which abundantly repay the excavator. Specimens of Greek and Roman art have been found on both sides of the Jordan as well as along the Mediterranean coast. The tombs also have yielded up their treasures and the museums of the world have been supplied with tear bottles, perfumery jars, vases, bowls, scarabs, ancient coins, etc.

The Phœnicians are credited with having invented the making of glass in the days when Tyre and Sidon were their chief cities. It is said that the art owes its discovery to the use of saltpeter in the place of stones by some sailors who landed at the mouth of the river Belos, near Akka. Finding no stones upon which to put their kettles, they used blocks of saltpeter and were surprised to find that the fire had fused the sand and saltpeter into a transparent substance. The industry was inaugurated at Tyre and Sidon, and for some time the Phœnicians supplied the world with glass. The bottles and vases found from time to time in the tombs of Syria and Egypt are more beautiful than when they left the hand of the manufacturer; the outer surface has decayed, and beneath are revealed all the colors of the rainbow. It was the custom to fill the tear bottles with tears of the mourners and to bury them with the dead.

The scarab, which is found so often in the ancient tombs in Syria and in Egypt, is the old fashioned tumble-bug or dung beetle with which every boy, or at least every country or village boy, is familiar. I little thought, when I used to see the tumble-bug rolling his little globe of manure along the dusty road, that he was considered a sacred insect several thousand years ago or that he was ever used as a symbol of the Creator; and yet his likeness adorns temples and tombs while his image, cut in stone and bearing the seal of rulers, has been found by the thousands. Often the heart of a dead person was removed and a scarab inserted in its place. The scarab, rolling its ball, typified to the ancient an unseen power guiding the sun while the bursting of the young bug from its egg in the ball symbolized the resurrection—to what classical uses this commonplace little insect was put!

Among those who have been instrumental in bringing the hidden treasures of Syria to the attention of the world, Mr. Azeez Khayat, a native of Tyre, but now an American citizen, deserves special mention. Many American museums are indebted to him for their collections.

Speaking of Tyre and Sidon reminds me that in the study of Syria and Palestine, I ran across an early instance of monopoly. Josephus accuses John of Gischala of monopolizing the oil business on the Mediterranean coast. It was early in the Christian era that the aforesaid John, according to Josephus, convinced the Jews who dwelt in Syria that they were obliged to use oil made by others, and the historian adds: "So he (John) bought four amphoræ with such Syrian money as was of the value of four Attic drachmæ and sold every half amphor at the same price; and as Galilee was very fruitful in oil and was peculiarly so at this time, by sending away great quantities and having the sole privilege so to do, he gathered an immense sum of money together."

This is interesting and instructive. It shows, first, that monopoly is an ancient evil and, second, that the monopolist in his inclination to take advantage of the consumer by raising the price was much the same then as now—but I have been afraid, ever since I read of John of Gischala, that some American named John might try to imitate him and establish a monopoly in our country—possibly in oil.

But on to Damascus—and we reached it all too soon, for the ride across the Anti-Lebanon range is also picturesque. The route down the east side of the mountain follows the valley of the Abana, a splendid stream, worthy of the compliment paid it by Naaman. It leaps from the mountain side a full grown river and plunges down into the plain only to be lost in the sands, but not until it has brought verdure to many square miles that would otherwise be barren. It is easy to understand why Damascus is among the oldest, if not actually the oldest, of all the cities still standing. It occupies the one green spot in all that section and is the outpost of the Mediterranean coast. The Arabian desert stretches to the east and southeast for hundreds of miles, and the caravans from Persia and Arabia pass through Damascus on their way to Egypt even now, as they did when Babylon and Ninevah were young; it is also on the road between the great East and Tyre and Sidon.

Damascus is an Oriental city and is still innocent of the ways of the western world. Its bazaars give one a glimpse of life as it was before Europe and America were known to history. The government is erecting public buildings according to modern plans; but the covered streets, lined with little booths, the homes of the people, the dress, the customs and the habits are the same that they were when Saul of Tarsus wandered down the street "called Straight" in search of the one who was to restore his sight. (This street though straight as compared with the other streets, is hardly deserving of the name which it still bears.)

As in Cairo, the different trades have different sections. The dealers in sugar occupy one quarter; the silversmiths, the candy manufacturers, the blacksmiths, the carpenters—each class has its cluster of shops. The Arabian horse being the pride of the Bedouin, we were not surprised to find much attention paid to the manufacture of saddles, saddle bags, bridles and trappings, only they were for the most part made of wool and cotton rather than of leather. Bright colors, tassels, fringes, shells and ostrich feathers are employed in the ornamentation of the horse, the donkey and the camel.

The candies of Damascus are good and very cheap, and nuts of all kinds are to be found in abundance, an excellent variety of walnut being grown within the city limits. Naturally this city is a market for Persian rugs and large stocks are kept on hand. While the people make everything which enters into the daily life of the country, they are especially skilled in brass, damascene ware and the inlaying of wood with mother-of-pearl.

Damascus is not especially noted for places of historical interest. The tourist is shown the house of Ananias and the window through which Paul was let down from the wall, but it is doubtful whether the identity of these places has been really established. A house, known as the house of Naaman the Leper, is now very appropriately used for a leper's home. There is no uncertainty about the river Abana, and another river near Damascus known as Pharpar. An ancient wall surrounds the city, and one of the largest mosques in the world occupies ground first dedicated to a heathen temple and afterward to the church of St. John the Baptist, erected by Arcadius, the son of Theodosius.

The big-tailed sheep described by Herodotus is to be found on the streets of Damascus. It is a peculiar breed, and the tail, which is considered a great delicacy, is often so heavy as to seem a burden to the sheep. It is broad, covered with wool, and sometimes ends in a curl. We also saw here the long-eared goats, as curious looking in their way as the sheep.

And what shall we say of the Damascus dog? He is to be found everywhere and has no owner. We counted eighteen in one group and two hundred and thirty-eight in one forenoon's ride. They live on charity and fight whenever an opportunity offers. It seems to be against the law of the sultan to kill dogs, as one learns to his regret after he has heard them barking at all hours of the night. It is superfluous to add that the flea is as common as the dog, and as indifferent also to the peace of the stranger.

A new railroad which is now building from Damascus to the south will soon make it possible to go to Galilee in a few hours, but now it is more convenient to return to Beyrout and go to Haifa by boat. This we did, and having a couple of days at Beyrout we learned something of the religious work done there.

In the division of territory the Presbyterians of America were, in 1870, assigned the country around Beyrout. The district is divided into the Beyrout, Lebanon, Sidon and Tripoli stations, and at all of these stations schools, as well as churches, are being established. So successful has the work been that the native communities now contribute half a dollar for every dollar sent from America. There is also an American press at Beyrout which publishes the Bible in Arabic, some eighty thousand copies being issued last year in addition to religious tracts of various kinds. One of the leaders in the missionary movement, Rev. H. H. Jessup, has completed his fiftieth year of service among the Syrians.

The Syrian Protestant college is also located in Beyrout; it occupies a beautiful site overlooking the sea and is in sight of the highest peak of the Lebanons. While Christian in management, this college is not denominational but is under the control of an American board representing a number of churches. Between six and seven hundred young men are in attendance, and its graduates are scattered throughout the world. Within its halls are to be found Protestants, Catholics (both Greek and Roman), Armenians, Jews and Mohammedans, and its influences in these parts can scarcely be overestimated.

The present president of the college, Dr. Howard S. Bliss, is the worthy son of the college's first president, Dr. Daniel Bliss, whose religious and educational work in this territory covers more than half a century. The elder Bliss, now past eighty-three, and his wife are enjoying an enviable experience. Their active labors over, with minds still alert and with hearts still young, they are spending the evening of their lives near the scenes of their labors and among the children and grandchildren who have blessed their home. Their rest has been earned, and the peace of their latter years is a merited reward. Surely they illustrate the blessedness of lives consecrated to a high purpose and rich in noble service.

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We were agreeably surprised in Jerusalem and Judea, but disappointed to learn how few Protestant Christians visited this city which may without impropriety be styled the Christian's Mecca. Possibly the wretched harbor at Joppa—if harbor it can be called—may frighten some away, for when the weather is bad passengers are often carried by, and yet it does seem that there should be more than four thousand a year from the rich and numerous churches of Europe and America. More than ninety thousand pilgrims visit the Mohammedan Mecca each year, although the Mohammedans are poor and the journey is difficult. Port Said is only a hundred and thirty-five miles from Joppa and Alexandria less than three hundred miles, and more than ninety-nine thousand persons disembarked at these ports last year. Making a liberal allowance for Egyptians returning from Europe, for immigrants from Europe to Egypt, and for invalids visiting Cairo in search of health, it is still true that many times as many go to the Nile as travel to Jerusalem, and of the less than four thousand tourists who visit the Holy City less than one thousand continue their journey to Nazareth and the Sea of Galilee. The number which I mention does not include the Greek Catholics or the Roman Catholics, but is an outside estimate of the number of Protestant Christians. The railroads which are building and the carriage roads in process of construction will make travel easier and may increase the number in the future, but it is difficult to explain or to understand why so many have come near to, and yet passed by, without seeing the places made familiar to the Christian world by the books of the Old and the New Testament.

We landed at Joppa when the weather was fair, but were detained a half day that they might "de-ratify the ship," as the Turkish authorities describe rat-killing upon the ship—a custom inaugurated after the rat had been convicted of carrying bubonic plague. Joppa is on the edge of the Plain of Sharon and, as an abundance of water can be secured at a reasonable depth, the city is a garden. Orange trees thrive there and the fruit is excellent. Two places of interest are shown, the home of Tabitha and the house of Simon the tanner, the latter immortalized by the vision which taught Peter the universality of Christ's mission.

The railroad to Jerusalem crosses the valley of Sharon which, at this season of the year, is exceedingly attractive. The crops are growing, the fellaheen are at work in the fields and everywhere the wild flowers bloom. The rose of Sharon had many rivals, if the plain looked in olden times as it does now. The principal station on the plain is Ramleh, through which conquering armies marched for ages. From time immemorial Palestine has been a prize of war. When it was not itself the object of conquest, its occupation was necessary to the acquiring or holding of other territory. The Persians, the Egyptians, the Parthians, the Scythians, the Greeks, the Romans and the Turks have all overrun this country—not to speak of the numerous wars of the Israelites and the expeditions of the Crusaders. From Alexander the Great and Cæsar to Napoleon, no world-conquering general overlooked Palestine—and yet, out of Palestine came the Prince of Peace.

South of Sharon lies the plain of Philistia, a narrow strip of land between the hills of Judea and the sea, a small region, and yet it supported a people who warred for centuries with the Children of Israel. It was at Gaza, one of the chief cities on this plain, that Samson pulled down the pillars of the building and died with those who made sport of him.

Leaving the low country, the railroad begins the ascent of the Judean hills through the Wady es Suar, and as one is carried up the tortuous course of the narrow valley he begins to understand why Jerusalem was considered a citadel. The hills rise to a height of about twenty-five hundred feet and are so inaccessible that a small number dwelling on top could easily defend themselves against a much larger force. The narrow limits of Judea impress one, hemmed in as it is on the west by Philistia, on the south by the desert and on the east by the deep chasm of the Dead Sea. Its history was developed in a territory scarcely larger than a Nebraska county.

As we approached the summit the vineyards appeared and the olive groves became more numerous. Jerusalem is beautifully located. No wonder its rebuilding and re-peopling is the dream of the devout Jews, many of whom come from distant corners of the earth to spend their last days within its precincts. The present walls of the city are only a few hundred years old, but the Tower of David is believed to be a part of the wall erected by the great Hebrew king.

Once within the city, one is surrounded on every hand by places that stir the tenderest of memories. Even the uncertainty as to the identification of many of the sites made sacred by the life, the sufferings and the death of Christ—even the rivalry between the various sects cannot prevent a feeling of reverence. Here He whose name is borne by increasing millions was condemned without cause, crowned with thorns and at last crucified, sealing with His blood the testimony of His life.

Early in the fourth century Helena, the mother of Constantine, set out to identify the spots most intimately associated with the Savior's life. She selected the place where, as she believed, Christ was crucified and buried, and her son erected the Church of the Holy Sepulchre to mark the locality. For fifteen centuries her designation was accepted as the correct one, and the Roman Catholics, the Greek Catholics and the Armenians, who divide the space in the church between them, have kept joint, though not always harmonious, watch over the various altars and chapels. A few years ago the correctness of the location of Calvary was disputed and a hill over the Grotto of Jeremiah was fixed upon by the dissenters as the place of the crucifixion, and a tomb near by as the sepulchre. Since that time the traveler has been shown both places and furnished with the arguments in support of the claims of each. It is contended that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, though within the present walls, stands upon land which was outside of the original walls, while the new location is outside of the walls as they are at present. Possibly future excavations may settle the question by determining the exact location of the wall in the time of Christ; but what matter? The two places are not far apart, and the whole vicinity has been hallowed by His presence.

Pilate's judgment hall, the Via Dolorosa and Ecce Homo arch are marked by the erection of a Catholic convent and school for girls where one finds a cleanliness in striking contrast to the streets outside. The pools of Gihon, of Siloam, of Bethesda and Hezekiah are all given a local habitation; the place where Judas hanged himself is pointed out, as well as the cave in which Jeremiah wrote his lamentations; the chamber where the Last Supper was observed is also fixed upon, and the tombs of Rachel, Absalom and of David. I do not know how much credence should be given to the testimony adduced in behalf of these different sites, but we are sure of the identity of a few places. Mount Zion, upon which David built his palace, is known; Mount Akra can be located and about Mount Moriah there can be no mistake. The great bare rock that crowns the last named eminence is a landmark that has not been and cannot be easily removed. It is now covered by a mosque but was once the sacrificial stone of the Hebrews. Solomon's temple was built on Mount Moriah, and some of its foundation stones and subterranean chambers can still be seen. In a street that leads by these foundation walls is the Jews' wailing place where for many centuries devout Hebrews, gathered from every country, have met on each Friday afternoon to bemoan the fate of Jerusalem and to petition for the restoration of the kingdom. One sees no more pathetic sight in a trip around the world than this assemblage of men and women, some gray-haired, some in middle life and many mere children, chanting their laments and caressing the stones which the hand of Solomon laid when he was building the temple which marked the summit of Jewish political power.

Bethlehem is also identified and whether or not the Church of the Nativity, erected by the mother of Constantine, covers the spot where Christ was born, one can look upon the hills around about the city and recall that it was here that the message, "Peace on earth, good will to men," came to the shepherds who kept their flocks by night.

In the Garden of Gethsemane, by the Brook Kedron, one can tread the soil pressed by the Master's feet in the hours of his loneliness and agony. The Garden is now walled in and carefully kept, and its old, gnarled and knotted olive trees shade the pansies which grow there in profusion. Bethpage still stands and also Bethany, where Mary and Martha and Lazarus lived, and, most conspicuous of all, the Mount of Olives, the place of the Ascension. From its summit the best view of Jerusalem is obtained; from that point also the eye can sweep the hills of both Judea and Samaria and to the east look upon the waters of the Dead Sea, thirty-eight hundred feet below.

Nowhere else can one walk amid scenes so familiar to the civilized world as are those of Judea. Surrounded by paganism and idolatry, a little band began here the establishment of a monotheistic religion and notwithstanding backslidings, shortcomings and wanderings from the faith, the spiritual side of life was never entirely forgotten; great prophets thundered their warnings from these hills; great singers poured forth their hymns of penitence, praise and thanksgiving; here a wonderful literature was developed and a history written which was stranger than fiction; and here, in the fulness of time, came One who was commissioned to substitute the law of Love for the law that required "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth."

In the city of Jerusalem there are now some sixty thousand souls, and a composite population it is. While about two-thirds of the people are Jews and the remainder divided almost equally between the Mohammedans and Christians, one can count representatives of a score or more of nations in an hour's walk. The streets of Jerusalem are narrow and crooked, and one is going up hill or down hill all the time. The houses, the stores, the walls, the gates and the customs of the people seem more Oriental than European. There are no street cars, no modern bookstores and no newspapers, excepting one printed in Hebrew.

The carriage road from Jerusalem to Jericho winds around the Mount of Olives and down the eastern side of the Judean hills, past the Apostles' fountain and through the wilderness of Judea. This wilderness is not the waste that we expected to find, but merely a broken and mountainous country, too stony to be cultivated and fit only for grazing. At this season of the year the grass is green and the ground bright with flowers.

A little more than half way down the slope is a rest station called, in honor of the parable, the Good Samaritan Inn. But for the mounted guards who now patrol this road the traveler would even to-day be in danger of falling among thieves.

A little farther on, the road leads near the edge of a wild, deep and rugged canyon at the bottom of which plunges the Brook Cherith. A Greek monastery has been built at the place where Elijah found refuge during the drought.

Jericho is a small village and a half mile from the site of the ancient city of that name. It depends for its support upon the tourists who visit the Jordan valley rather than upon the cultivated area.

The Dead Sea, forty miles long and eight miles in width, covers the deepest portion of this most remarkable of the depressions in the earth's surface. The rent extends from the base of Mount Hermon to the eastern arm of the Red Sea, known as the Gulf of Akabah. For more than one hundred miles this rent or ravine is below the level of the sea, the surface of the Dead Sea being thirteen hundred feet lower than the Mediterranean. As the Dead Sea is in some places thirteen hundred feet deep, the greatest depth of the chasm is, therefore, more than twenty-six hundred feet. The water of the Sea is bitter and contains twenty-six per cent of salt, or about five times as much as the ocean. As we took a bath in the Dead Sea, we can testify that one cannot sink in its waters.

The Jordan is neither as large nor as clear as one would expect from its prominence in Bible history. The banks are slippery, the waters are muddy and the current is swift. It has much the appearance of a creek swollen with rain. We tried its waters also, but did not venture far from the shore. Between the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea the Jordan falls about six hundred feet, or ten feet to the mile. At present but little use is made of this fertile valley, but, in the opinion of some who have investigated the matter, it could, with proper irrigation and under a just government, be made as fruitful as the valley of the Nile. As might be expected, the heat in this deep basin is intense in the summer, but the hills are near enough on each side to provide homes for those who would cultivate the fields.

Looking across the Jordan one sees the Mountains of Moab. While the country "beyond the Jordan" plays an unimportant part in Bible history as compared with Judea, Samaria and Galilee, still it has its Nebo, where the great Jewish lawgiver sleeps in an unmarked grave; it has its Macherus, where John the Baptist was beheaded, and its Gilead. Elijah, the Tishbite, came from beyond the Jordan, and beyond the Jordan Elisha received his teacher's mantle; Ruth came from the Land of Moab, and Job endured his trials in the Land of Uz.

Space does not permit a reference to all the places of interest or an elaborate consideration of any of them. It is impossible to describe in a few words what it requires several days to see. One thought often comes to the mind as the different scenes are visited, viz., that a visit to the Holy Land makes it easier to understand many Bible passages and gives added significance to others. We have seen the barren fig tree and the fruitful vine; we have seen the lame and the blind, and have met the leper at the gate; we have seen the tiny lamp, such as the wise and foolish virgins carried—lamps that need often to be refilled; and we have seen the "whited sepulchres," "full of dead men's bones." We have been impressed with the life-giving power of a fountain in a barren land and can more fully realize the force of the promise that the man who delighteth "in the law of the Lord" "shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water."

But no part of the Old Testament has been brought more vividly to our minds than the twenty-third Psalm. Life is much the same here to-day as it was two, three, four thousand years ago, and we have seen innumerable flocks and have watched the sheep following the shepherd with confidence as he, staff in hand, led them into new pastures or from hillside to stream. No animal is more helpless than the sheep and no guardian more tender than the shepherd. The sheep know their master's voice, and we have several times seen a shepherd carrying a lamb in his arms. The hills about Jerusalem, the springs, the shepherds and their flocks, will rise before us whenever we read again:

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters."

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The boat schedules—and they can not be ignored on the Palestine coast—compelled us to reserve Galilee for the conclusion of our tour, and it was an inappropriate ending, for while Jerusalem was the scene of the crucifixion and ascension, the greater part of Christ's life was spent in Galilee, and it was there that "most of His mighty works were done." Nor is its history confined to the New Testament, for it has its Carmel associated with the life of Elijah, and Mount Tabor where Deborah's victory was won. Haifa, the seaport of Galilee, is built along the front of Carmel on the edge of a bay which the mountain helps to form, for Carmel, instead of being a peak, is really a long ridge but a few hundred feet in height, jutting out into the sea at this point and extending several miles to the southeast. A Roman Catholic monastery is erected over a cave overlooking the Mediterranean, where Elijah is said to have lived.

To the north of Carmel lies the plain of Esdraelon through which the Kishon river flows. The road to Nazareth follows the south side of this valley to a point some seven miles from the shore where the hills of Galilee approach so near to Carmel as to leave but a narrow pass for the river. Here the road crosses over to the north side of the valley, and for the remainder of the distance winds upward over the hills, giving a commanding view of Esdraelon. The upper part of the plain is as beautiful a country as can be imagined—well watered, fertile and thoroughly cultivated. The land is not held in severalty, as in America, but by communities. The cultivators live in villages, built at intervals around the edge of the valley, and the land is apportioned each year by the village chief, no one receiving the same tract two years in succession. As we looked down upon the valley we could distinguish the different allotments as they lay in long strips of equal width. Wheat is the chief product of the valley, although there are a few olive orchards, and the mulberry tree is being planted. Oxen are the animals usually employed in cultivation, but we occasionally saw a horse and an ox yoked together or a camel and an ox, and once a camel and a donkey.

Jezreel is on this plain, at the foot of Mount Gilboa, where the middle plain connects with the plain leading down to the Jordan between Gilboa and Little Hermon. This is historic ground, for it was here at a great spring which flows out from under Gilboa that Gideon selected his gallant band.

The village of Nazareth, nestling among the hills of Galilee, must always be a place of supreme interest to the Christian. Its location was probably determined by the presence here of an unfailing spring, now known as Mary's fountain. Dr. George Adam Smith, in his "Historical Geography of the Holy Land," points out the relation between the springs and the routes of travel and emphasizes the prominence of Nazareth in the Bible times. Christ's boyhood and young manhood were spent near a great highway, for the old Roman road from Damascus to Egypt ran through the town. Caravans passed to and fro laden with the riches of the Euphrates and the Nile; princes passed that way on their royal journeys, and in time of war it was on the route of armies. From a high hill just outside the town Christ could look to the west and see the surf line on the shore of the Mediterranean, to the east He could survey the walls of the chasm in which lay the sea of Galilee, while to the northeast rose Hermon, the pride of the mountains. Several of His parables fit quite naturally into the scenes upon which He looked, and those parables were the more effective because they were taken from the everyday life of the people. The stony ground, the rocky roadways and the narrow strips of fertile soil were woven into the Parable of the Sower, and some acquaintance of His youth, following the merchantmen into Egypt or Mesopotamia, may have been the original of the Prodigal Son.

Rev. Selah Merrill, our consul at Jerusalem, has refuted the statement so frequently made that the Nazarenes were held in contempt. He shows that there is no just foundation for the aspersions cast on this section of Galilee. Mr. Merrill's book, "Galilee in the Time of Christ," is, I may add, a very useful preparation for a trip through this part of Palestine.

Chapels have been erected to mark the home of Joseph and Mary, the carpenter shop and the rock where Christ met His disciples after the resurrection, but one never feels certain about the identification of places selected so long after the death of Christ and having no permanent physical marks.

A few miles to the east of Nazareth is a village called Cana which claims to be the "Cana of Galilee" where the first miracle was performed, and a church has been erected over a well from which, it is argued, the water was taken that was turned into wine, but two other villages with similar names contest the honor with this Cana.

The Sea of Galilee has a double claim to distinction. To its natural beauty, which is unsurpassed, is added the glory of having furnished the fishermen who were to become "fishers of men." Nearly seven hundred feet below the level of the ocean and walled by high hills, it has a character all its own, and its shores were the familiar haunts of Him who by precept and example taught the nobleness of service. The sea is some twelve miles in length by six or eight in breadth. The Jordan pours into it the waters of Hermon and Lake Merom and carries away its overflow to the Dead Sea. The Plain of Gennesaret includes nearly all the level land adjacent to it, save the Jordan valleys above and below, and is so prominent a feature of the landscape that its name is sometimes applied to the sea. The village of Magdala, home of one of the Marys, is situated on the edge of this plain, but is now only a collection of mud huts, each one bearing a booth of boughs upon its flat roof. The house top is an important part of the house in the Orient and furnishes a sleeping place for the occupants during the warm summer nights. The village of Magdala, with the land belonging to it, has recently been sold to a syndicate which proposes to very much improve its cultivation.

A little farther south on the west side of the sea, is the city of Tiberias, the only city still remaining of the ten or more that, two thousand years ago, stretched along the shores. The city's name gives evidence of its Roman origin, and it was once so important a place that its name was a rival for Galilee in the designation of the sea. Tiberias was one of the sacred cities of the Jews and to-day the descendants of the Hebrew race constitute three-fourths of its population. A Jewish society, of which Baron Rothschild is the patron, has several schools here, and a number of the residents devote themselves entirely to the study of the law. Near Tiberias are the hot springs spoken of by Josephus, and their healing waters still have a great reputation. The bath houses are not kept as they would be in Europe or America, but the mineral properties of the water make it very invigorating.

A Jewish synagogue has been erected near the hot springs and the annual feast in honor of Rabbi Meyer was celebrated there during our stay in Tiberias. As it was the only feast of the kind we had ever attended, we found it exceedingly interesting. The devout Jews were gathered in large numbers, some coming several days' journey; many of the men wore a long curl in front of each ear, a custom which we first noticed in Jerusalem. The feast is an occasion of rejoicing and there are dancing, music and merriment. A part of the ceremony is the burning of garments contributed by those in attendance, and the right to light the fire is made a matter of auction. We went into the room where the bidding was in progress and were informed that more than ten dollars had already been offered for the honor. The feast has many of the characteristics of a fair, the vendors of candles, cakes, drinks and merchandise plying their trade and different delegations marching with banners.

There is at Tiberias a splendidly equipped hospital established by the United Free Church of Scotland, and conducted by a skilful surgeon, Dr. Torrance, and a corps of assistants; more than one hundred and fifty persons were treated the day we visited the hospital. Surely this institution is a fitting memorial, and what more appropriate place for a hospital than these shores where the lame were made whole, the deaf were healed and the blind received their sight!

The site of Chorazin, the city which Christ denounced for unbelief in connection with Capernaum and Bethsaida, is still a matter of dispute, but Capernaum, where Christ dwelt during the greater part of His ministry, has probably been identified. It is situated on the northeast corner of Gennesaret, close by the shore of the sea. There is no town there now and no house save a Catholic monastery, but recent excavations have unearthed the foundations of a building believed to have been the Jewish synagogue in which Christ spoke. On one of the stones of this synagogue is a representation of David's seal and a pot of manna; if this is in reality the synagogue in which Christ referred to the bread of life, it may be true, as someone has suggested, that He found His text, "Your fathers did eat manna in the wilderness," in this carving upon the stone.

There has been a great deal of discussion over the site of Bethsaida, and some have argued that there were two towns of the same name, one at the north end of the lake east of the mouth of the Jordan, and the other on the west side not far from Capernaum. But both towns have so completely disappeared that they can not be located with any certainty.

Safed, another of the sacred cities of the Jews, lies some distance west of the sea of Galilee but within sight of it, perched on a high hill. It is so conspicuous a landmark and so often seen by the Great Teacher that it may have suggested to His mind the illustration, "A city that is set on a hill can not be hid."

The sea of Galilee, beautiful as it is with its clear water and its picturesque environment, is treacherous. Its surface is swept by sudden gusts of wind and tempests often lash it until its waves beat high upon the shore. A resident of Tiberias told us that he had seen it when it might be mistaken for an ocean, so violently was it agitated, and he bore testimony also to the unexpected squalls that visit it. We spent two days on the sea, and in crossing it found the wind so variable that probably half a dozen times the sail became useless and it was necessary to resort to the oars. There was no great tempest while we were there, and the waves did not "beat into the ship" but the wind was at times contrary. The uncertainty of the weather has been attributed to the numerous ravines or canyons which run down from the mountains round about the sea, and as these are the same now that they were two thousand years ago, travel upon the lake is attended with the same risk that it was then.

In the time of Christ the sea of Galilee was the scene of busy life. The population of the country described as Galilee has been estimated to have been at that time about two and a half millions. The sea was covered with boats, built for fishing, for traffic, for war or for pleasure. Josephus collected two hundred and thirty ships for one of his expeditions upon the sea, and in a sea fight that took place there the number killed on one side alone was given at from four to six thousand.

The sea was full of fish, and the Gospels furnish abundant proof of the importance of fishing as an industry, a fact also established by outside evidence. Dr. Merrill, in the book above referred to, says that fish taken were not only sufficient to satisfy the local demands but were packed and shipped to Jerusalem and even to cities along the Mediterranean. The supply of fish has not yet been exhausted. Salim Moussa, of Jaffa, the very efficient Arab dragoman furnished us by Cook, supplied us with a net when we visited the sites of Capernaum and Bethsaida and our son caught enough fish for our lunch. It was a delightful outing that we had that day, gathering water-worn pebbles from the beach, picking up shells, of which there are many varieties, and feasting on fish fresh from the sea and on a lamb bought from a Bedouin who was tending his flock near by.

The visit to the Horns of Hattin was reserved for the return trip, the road from Nazareth to Tiberias passing near the hill which bears this name. It was in 1157 the scene of a celebrated battle in which Saladin won a victory over the Crusaders. This hill, by a tradition which has come down from the time of the Crusaders, is styled the Mount of Beatitudes. There is nothing to determine just where the Sermon on the Mount was delivered, but because the Horns of Hattin have been associated with that wonderful discourse, I was anxious to visit the place. There is no road leading to this eminence and the bridle paths can scarcely be followed. The ground is covered by boulders and broken stones, half concealed by grass and thistles and flowers. The guide stepped over a large snake before we had gone far, and as it was of a very poisonous variety, he felt that he had had a narrow escape. From a distance the top of the hill is saddle-shaped, and the two horns have given it its name, but on the top there is a large circular basin, probably two hundred yards in diameter, and the rim of this basin was once walled and a citadel built there.

The view from this mount is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. To the north, Hermon rises in grandeur, his summit covered with snow; the intervening space is filled with hills except in the immediate foreground where the sea of Galilee sparkles in the sun. At the foot of the mount stretches a verdant valley, and from the valley a defile runs down to the sea. This opening gives a view of the shore where Capernaum and Bethsaida are supposed to have stood, and one of the roads from the sea to Nazareth follows the stream which flows through this defile. On the opposite side of the Mount, Tabor can be seen, and beyond, the hills of Samaria. There is inspiration in this commingling of hill and vale and sea and sky.[6]

Whether, as a matter of fact, Christ, "seeing the multitude," ascended to this place I know not, but it furnishes an environment fit for the sublime code of morality presented in the Sermon on the Mount. No other philosophy has ever touched so high a point or presented so noble a conception of human life. In it purity of heart is made the test, mercy is enjoined, humility emphasized, forgiveness commanded and love made the law of action. In that Sermon He pointed out the beginnings of evil, rebuked those who allow themselves to be engrossed by the care of the body and gave to the world a brief, simple and incomparable prayer which the Christian world repeats in unison.

If in other places He relieved those whose sufferings came through the infirmities of the flesh, He here offered a balm for the healing of the nations.

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Nothing so impresses the visitor to Greece—not the waters of the Ægean sea, with their myriad hues; not the Acropolis, eloquent with ruins; not even the lovely site of Athens itself—as the part which little Greece has played in the instruction of the world. With an area of less than twenty-five thousand square miles, not half of which is productive, and with a population of less than two and a half millions, this diminutive nation has a history without a parallel.

There is scarcely a department of thought in which Greece has not been the pioneer, and in many things she has set an example which subsequent generations have but imperfectly followed. If in Egypt one is awed by the evidences of antiquity; if in Palestine he is made reverent by the spiritual association connected with Judea, Galilee and Samaria; in Greece he bows with profound respect to the mighty influence exerted by this single people upon civilization.

The signs along the streets recall the alphabet with which the student of the classics struggles when he takes up the dead languages—and yet, the Greek language can hardly be called dead, for while it is the spoken tongue of but a comparatively small number, it has found a glorious resurrection in nearly all the languages of Europe. In fact, it has so many merits that we are constantly complimenting it by returning to it for the nomenclature of philosophy, science and art.

Of those who still speak the language of Herodotus, Homer, Socrates and Demosthenes, a majority live outside of Greece, for the Greek colonies planted around the eastern end of the Mediterranean form a considerable, as well as an influential, portion of the population. Greek colonization, by the way, was of an enduring kind. Those who went out into distant fields did not go as individual bees (official or commercial) to gather honey and return with it to the parent hive; they went out rather in swarms to found cities, develop countries and establish new centers for the spread of Greek influence. They identified themselves with the land to which they went; they became an integral part of the population, and, by virtue of their inherent superiority, they gradually substituted the language, the ideas, and the customs of their native land for those which they found. So securely did they build that neither the Roman nor the Turk was able to obliterate their work. The people bowed before the storm, but continued Greek, and to-day in Alexandria, Asia Minor and Constantinople, Hellenic influence is still felt.

The ancient Greeks sought to perfect the human form, and it is not to be wondered at that the marble models of strength, grace and beauty have been unearthed where the Olympian games inspired a rivalry in physical development. The games were established nearly eight hundred years before the beginning of the Christian era, and during the nation's independent existence they were held in such high esteem that the laurel wreath of victory was the greatest reward within the reach of the youth of the country. Each city had its stadium, some of them of immense size. The one at Athens seated fifty thousand spectators, and the enthusiasm aroused by the contests was scarcely less than that which at Rome greeted the gladiators. By the generosity of a rich Greek the stadium at Athens has recently been restored at a cost of more than a million dollars. The race course is six hundred and seventy feet long and a little more than a hundred feet in width, and the seats are of Pentelic marble. Notwithstanding its great capacity it can not contain the crowds that assemble to witness the athletic games, renewed there in 1896 by the International Athletic Association. Our country has the distinction of having led in the contest of 1896 and again in the contest held at Athens last April. Our representatives won eleven prizes each time, and I found that these victories had very favorably impressed the people of Athens.

The stadium is not the only splendid monument to the public spirit of the modern Greeks. The academy of science and the library are magnificent buildings, each costing more than the restoration of the stadium. They illustrate the best in Grecian architecture, reproducing the Corinthian, the Doric, and the Ionic. They are of Pentelic marble and would be worthy of a place in any city of the world. The library contains several hundred thousand volumes and has all the modern equipment. Athens has a population of but little more than a hundred thousand, and it is doubtful whether there is another city of its size that can boast of as large an expenditure of private capital in public buildings. The mountain which has supplied Athens with marble for twenty-five hundred years is only a few miles from the city and its quarries are still unexhausted.

Modern Athens is very attractive; its streets are paved and clean; its business houses are large and well built; its government buildings are substantial, and its private residences give evidence of taste. We were there in the season of flowers and we saw them blooming in profusion everywhere. Numerous statues adorn the streets and parks, the most noted being the statue of Byron, erected in memory of his unselfish devotion to Greek independence.

The soldiers and policemen have adopted the costume of the ancient Greeks, but otherwise the people dress like the people of northern Europe.

As one approaches Athens for the first time, his eye is sure to search for the "temple-crowned" Acropolis—the hill which art and religion combined to make immortal. It rises from the plain much as Chapultepec rises from the plain of Mexico. It is about five hundred feet high and, at the top, two hundred yards in length. It must have been surpassingly beautiful when the Parthenon was completed—that great treasury which has not only supplied the art galleries of the world with marvels of beauty in stone, but has given law to the architects from that day to this. Pericles, who deserves the credit for the construction of the Parthenon, can be pardoned for exulting in his work.

To-day, the Acropolis is a picture of desolation, but the few columns that remain bear witness to its departed glory. Lord Elgin carried away at one time two hundred and fifty feet of the sculptured frieze, and scarcely any of its columns, capitals, cornice and pediment would have remained but for the size and weight of the masses of marble. The pillage that for nearly twenty centuries has been robbing Greece of her priceless works of art can be understood when it is stated that one Roman conqueror celebrated his victory by exhibiting in his triumphant procession two hundred and fifty wagon loads of Greek pictures and statues, and that these wagons were followed by three thousand men each bearing some trophy taken from the cities of Greece.

And yet in spite of the grand larceny which has been perpetrated against this unfortunate land the museum at Athens contains enough of the beautiful in marble and bronze to make any nation conspicuous in the realm of art. Within two years some notable additions have been made to the collection; a life-sized bronze statue has been unearthed and a marble figure, half buried in the sands of the sea, has been rescued. The latter is perfect in the portions protected by the sand but was disintegrating where it came into contact with the waves.

The readers of these articles are too well informed in regard to the discoveries of Dr. Schliemann to make it necessary to refer to his work in detail. One room of the museum contains the gold ornaments which he gathered from five tombs, and they are sufficient to show the extended use made of this metal in the arts. They consist of ear rings, finger rings, bracelets, necklaces, head ornaments, vases, cups, coins, etc. A pair of cups which attract special attention bear in relief the figures of bulls—the animals being equal in form to the best breeds of to-day. On one cup they are being led to the sacrifice and on the other they are bound at the altar.

Besides these statues of renown and the casts of those which have been removed, there are many specimens of ancient pottery by which one can trace the rise in artistic taste and skill. Some of the earliest statues in stone and clay bear a striking resemblance to those of Egypt.

Second only in interest to the Acropolis is Mars Hill, a rocky summit two-thirds of the height of the Acropolis. Here the ancient court of the Areopagus, composed of the most eminent of the Athenians, held its sessions. Here under the dome of the sky the most important cases were tried and life and death hung upon the decree of the court. Here, also, Paul's great speech to the "men of Athens" was delivered, his text being found in the altar erected to "the unknown god."

Only a little distance from Mars Hill is the stone platform from which the orators of Greece addressed the people. A level, shelf-like space was formed near the top of the hill where a few thousand could congregate, and here the citizens listened while the greatest of all public speakers poured forth his eloquence. It was worth a trip to Athens to view the spot where Demosthenes delivered the oration on the Crown and the Philippics, which have been the pattern set before the student for twenty-two hundred years. In the marshalling of facts, in the grouping of arguments, in the use of invective and in the arranging of climaxes he is still the teacher. Someone has drawn a distinction between Cicero and Demosthenes, saying that when the former spoke the people said: "How well Cicero speaks," while, when Demosthenes spoke, they said: "Let us go against Phillip!" Demosthenes' style was more convincing than ornate; his purpose was to arouse, not merely to please, and from the accounts that have come down to us his delivery was suited to his language. He, in fact, gave to action the highest place among the requisites of effective speech. We recalled the saying of Demosthenes when we listened to the excited tones and watched the gesticulations of the boatmen who thronged about our ship in the harbor of Piræus. The physician who came aboard to examine the passengers gave us even a better illustration of "action," although his gestures were more forcible than graceful, possibly because he addressed himself to the captain of the ship instead of to the multitude.

On the shore of the Ægean sea, between Athens and the harbor, at a place where Demosthenes may have tested his voice against the tumult of the waves, I gathered some pebbles. I can not prove that they are the identical ones used by him to overcome the impediment in his speech, but they are at least a reminder of the toilsome struggle through which he passed before his name was known to fame.

It was a disappointment to find so little to mark the site of the academy where Socrates and Plato met their disciples. These philosophers have made such an impression upon the thought of the world that I had hoped to find some spot clearly identified as the place where they taught. An old house now stands on a treeless tract over which they are said to have walked in their daily discussions, but it is a modern one. A gate admits to the grounds, although no wall incloses them. It is much easier to picture Demosthenes speaking from the rostrum which still remains, than to imagine Socrates propounding here his questions and elaborating the method of reasoning to which his name has been given.

There is an old cemetery within the limits of the present city where recent excavation has brought to light numerous tombs ornamented with sculpture. Some of the groups of statuary and urns have been left where they were found, while others have been given a place in the museum. These are additional proof of the number of those who handled the chisel in the days of Phidias.

No spot is identified with Herodotus, the Father of History, or with Thucydides who, with Herodotus, has been the instructor of later chroniclers. Except the remains of the theatres, there is nothing to recall the tragedies of Euripides, Æschylus and Sophocles or the comedies of the Aristophanes; and no place is pointed out as the site of the studio of Parrhasius or Zeuxis, though the lessons which they taught the world have not been forgotten. While the guide does not pretend to know the house in which Homer lived or where he wrote his deathless songs, the traveler who passes through the Hellespont can see the plains of ill-fated Troy, and during his stay in Greece his memory runs over the heroes of the Iliad and the Odyssey.

There are no physical evidences of the life work of Lycurgus and Solon, yet the laws which they promulgated are the heritage of mankind. Salamis remains, and if the naval battle which Themistocles won had had no other effect than to furnish Pericles with a theme for his great funeral orations, it would still have been worthy of remembrance. The battlefield of Marathon which gave Miltiades a place among the world's generals is also unchanged. It is about twenty-five miles from Athens, and the story, told in marble, of the Greek who carried the news of the victory to Athens and died from exhaustion amid the shouts of his countrymen, has led to the incorporation of a twenty-five mile race in the athletic games when they are held at Athens. In 1896 the race was won by a Greek (much to the satisfaction of the audience), who made the run from Marathon to the city in two hours and forty-five minutes.

The pass at Thermopylæ is also to be seen, and the heroism of the three hundred Spartans who, under the leadership of Leonidas, offered up their lives there for their country, continues to be an inspiration. They failed to stay the onward march of Xerxes, but who can measure the value of their example?

Corinth, as of old, still guards the entrance to the Peloponnesus; but notwithstanding the canal, which, at this point, connects the Ægean Sea with the Gulf of Corinth, the city has only a small population.

Corinth brings to memory the part Greece played in the spread of Christianity. It was not enough that this country led the world in statecraft and oratory, in poetry and history, in philosophy and literature, in art and in athletics, she was also one of the first mission fields of the apostles. It was to the Corinthians that Paul wrote the Epistles in which love is given the first place among the virtues, and it was Greece that gave her name to one of the great branches of the Christian Church.

A democrat may be pardoned for cherishing a high regard for the land that coined the word, democracy. The derivation of the word—from demos, the people, and kratein, to rule—makes it an appropriate one to describe a government based upon popular will. And as governments more and more recognize the citizen as the sovereign, and the people as the source of all political power, the world's debt to Greece will be more and more fully appreciated. She not only gave to language a word accurately expressing the idea of self-government, but she proved by experience the wisdom of trusting the people with the management of all public affairs.

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It is impossible to convey to the reader any adequate idea of the beauties of the Bosphorus at the point where Constantine located the capital of the Byzantine empire. The best way to approach it is by the sea, and as the traveler usually enters from the west, he sails through the Dardanelles, known in ancient times as the Hellespont, passes through the sea of Marmora and enters the Bosphorus between Constantinople, on the one side, and Skutari on the other. The Bosphorus itself is between fifteen and twenty miles long and very deep. It is the connecting link between the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmora and the hills that jut into it on either side are nearly all covered with towns and villas. The water is as clear as the water of a lake, and fish may be seen at a great distance below the surface. A ride through the Bosphorus reminds one of a trip up the Hudson, although the former has the advantage in the depth of the stream, in the transparency of the water, in the height of the banks and in the irregularity of the course. In fact, the channel contains so many curves that one seems to be passing through a succession of lakes.[7]

A little more than half way between the Sea of Marmora and the Black Sea, on the north bank, is Therapia, the summer capital, to which the officials repair when the warm weather begins, and upon the same bank, about half way between Constantinople and Therapia, is Roberts College, an institution for boys, established and maintained by American philanthropy. It occupies a promontory which overlooks the Bosphorus at its narrowest point, the point at which Mohammed II crossed over from Asia, when in 1453 he succeeded in capturing Constantinople.

The Golden Horn is the name given to an arm of the Bosphorus which, leaving that strait a few miles from the Sea of Marmora, stretches northward five or six miles to receive a stream called the Sweet Waters of Europe. It may have been that the Golden Horn at one time rivaled the Bosphorus in beauty, but it does so no longer. Full of ships and boats of every description, from war vessels to canoes, and polluted by the sewage of two cities, it disappoints as much as the Bosphorus delights.

The city of Constantinople is divided by the Golden Horn, Stamboul, the Turkish city lying on the west, and Galata and Pera, the foreign quarters, lying on the east. Skutari stretches along the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus, and the navies and merchant vessels of all the world could ride in safety in the waters adjacent to these three cities.

In the seventh century, B. C., a small colony of Greeks under the lead of Byzas settled at Cape Bosphorus, now the site of Stamboul, and in the rise and fall of the dynasties of the east, it has played an important part. Being on the boundary line between Asia and Europe and guarding the water communication between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean, it possesses strategic advantages which statesmen and warriors have been quick to recognize. The Persians always wanted it and several times captured it. The Greeks were continually taking it and losing it; Phillip of Macedon laid siege to it and in so doing furnished Demosthenes with a theme for some of his greatest speeches. There is a tradition that Phillip would have succeeded, in spite of the aid given by the Athenians, but for the barking of dogs, which apprised the inhabitants of a night assault. As the dogs were set to barking, not by the enemy, but by the moon which rose just in time to save the city, the Byzantines adopted the crescent as their emblem and it has continued to be the emblem of Turkey, having been retained by the Turks after their victory.

Alexander the Great became master of the Bosphorus, and later Byzantium fell into the hands of the Romans. After a checkered career of two centuries it was taken by Constantine, who decided to make it the capital of the Roman world, and his own name has been given to it, although he intended to call it New Rome. No one can doubt the political wisdom of the first Christian emperor in putting the seat of government at this place. If Europe, Asia and Africa are ever brought together under one government or under one confederation, Constantinople will be the natural and necessary capital. The shores of Africa, southern Europe and Asia Minor are washed by the Mediterranean and by its gulfs and bays; the Black Sea is the outlet of southern Russia and part of Asia Minor, and the new railroad which is being built to connect Europe with the Euphrates and India, crosses the Bosphorus here. When this road is finished, it will be possible to go from London to India in about six days, and one of the Turkish governors expressed the hope that it would be completed within six or seven years.

Constantine built a magnificent cathedral, one of the greatest ever constructed, it being his purpose to surpass any house of worship that man had reared. It is in the form of a Greek cross and was originally rich in mosaics, some of which still remain. The dome is one of the largest in the world. This cathedral, called St. Sophia, fell into the hands of the Mohammedans when Constantinople was taken and is now used as a mosque. When hope of successful resistance was gone, the Christians of Constantinople crowded into the cathedral—some have estimated the number as high as a hundred thousand, but that seems hardly possible—praying that the church might at least be spared, but the leader of the Turks rode into the building on his charger, and, striking one of the pillars with his sword, exclaimed; "There is no God but Allah and Mohammed is his prophet!" Then followed a slaughter so cruel and bloody that the Christians never recall the day without indulging the hope that the building may some day return to the possession of those who cherish the faith of its founder.

Constantinople is full of mosques, their minarets rising above all other buildings, but none of them possess for either Christian or Moslem the importance that attaches to St. Sophia.

The modern mosques lack the stateliness of Constantine's building, and are not so rich in their ornamentation as some of the mosques of India. There is one, however, near the upper end of the Golden Horn which is regarded by the Turks as especially sacred because it is the burial place of the first Mohammedan (a standard bearer of Mahomet) who attempted the capture of Constantinople. Each sultan visits that mosque as he enters upon his reign, and Christians are not permitted to use the street leading to the mosque. The sultan visits St. Sophia once a year, but he is in such fear of assassination that he usually has a street cleared for his passage and then quietly goes by water to elude the crowd.

The first settlement at Constantinople, or at Byzantine, as it was originally called in honor of its founder, was made at what is now known as Seraglio Point, an elevation which extends into the Bosphorus between the Sea of Marmora and the Golden Horn. It commands the best view of any place in the city. The historian, Bancroft, visited this spot and was so impressed by the magnificence of the panorama spread out before him that he stood gazing at it for an hour. This was the site selected for the royal palace, and the kings, emperors and sultans lived here until recent years, but it is so exposed to the attack of any hostile fleet that the sultan's palace has, as a matter of precaution, been removed to the hills back of Galata, and Seraglio Point is now a sort of curiosity shop. It is visited with difficulty, permission having to be obtained from the sultan himself, upon application of the diplomatic representative of the nation to which the visitor belongs. By the courtesy of our legation we obtained a permit and found it full of interest. One of the buildings contains a very old library, another is a reproduction of a Persian summer house which, a former sultan having admired, his chief eunuch had removed to Constantinople without his master's knowledge.

The most important building on the Point, however, is the treasury where the crown jewels, ornamented arms, royal gifts and the robes of former sultans are kept. It would require more space than that allotted to a dozen articles to describe even the more important pieces of this collection. One room contains two thrones brought from Persia, one of which must have rivaled the famous Peacock Throne of Delhi. It is of unusual size and literally covered with rubies, emeralds and pearls, arranged in graceful patterns. The seat is of crimson velvet embroidered with gold and pearls. The other throne, while smaller, is even more richly ornamented; it is incrusted with larger jewels and has a canopy, from the center of which is suspended an emerald of enormous size.

Along the walls of one room were exhibited the costumes of the various sultans from Mohammed II to the present. Nowhere else have we seen such evidences of Oriental splendor in dress. The robes of state are flowered and figured and heavy with gold; the turbans are huge—sometimes fifteen inches in height and breadth—and adorned with aigrettes of great value. One of these ornaments contains three stones, a ruby and two emeralds as large as pigeons' eggs and without a flaw. With each robe is the sword or dagger carried by the sultan and each has a jeweled handle. While the robes differ in color and design—as star differeth from star in glory—and while the aigrettes and sword handles vary in pattern, all are on the same scale and show lavish expenditure. They are in striking contrast with the last of the series, which is simply a red military uniform covered with gold braid.

The treasury contains numerous portraits of sultans and family trees, presenting the heads of the present royal line. It seems that nearly all of the Mohammedan rulers wore a full beard, and some of them had strong faces.

Besides the swords of the sultans, there are in the treasury innumerable other swords with jeweled handles, and with scabbards inlaid with gold, silver and gems. There are guns also of every description, many of them engraved and ornamented with gold and silver. One fortification gun bears upon the barrel quotations from the Koran written in gold.

Then there are jewel boxes, vessels of gold and vessels of silver, rare china, some of it set with jewels, not to speak of enameled ware and embroideries. Many of these pieces were gifts sent or brought by other rulers, for in the Orient the gift is as indispensable in dealing with the sovereign as "baksheesh" is in dealing with the subordinate Turkish official.

When we had finished the inspection of Seraglio Point, we were conducted to one of the reception rooms and refreshed with a jam made of rose leaves, and this was followed by Turkish coffee. Turkish coffee by the way, is very different from the coffee of the Occident. The berry is ground or pounded until it is as fine as flour; it is then put into water and raised to the boiling point and cooled three times. It is usually served hot, and is very black and so thick that at least half of the small cup is sediment.

The streets of Constantinople are narrow, crooked and dirty. There is no park system, and the cemeteries scattered through the city, being shaded with cypress trees, furnish about the only picnic grounds for the people. It is not an unusual sight to see a gay party spreading its lunch amid the tombs. A Mohammedan graveyard is full of headstones as well as trees, and on top of the stone is often carved a fez or a turban. While most of this stony head wear is unadorned, one sees occasionally a painted fez, red being the popular color.

There is one park, called the Sweet Waters of Europe, and extending along the stream which bears that name, where the Turkish women congregate—especially on Friday afternoon. As might be expected, the men have formed the habit of driving in the park on these days in order to catch a glimpse of the women, for Turkish women live in such seclusion that they are seldom seen. They wear veils, but as we visited the park, we can testify that the veils are not always heavy enough to conceal the features. When the eye is especially lustrous or the face more comely than usual, the veil is occasionally lifted.

The ride to and from the park also gives one an opportunity to see a great many fine teams perfectly matched, for the Turk has caught the Arab's fondness for the horse.

The bazaars of Constantinople repay a visit, though quite like the bazaars of Cairo and Damascus. The booths are more substantially built and more commodious, and the labyrinth of streets and alleys which form the old bazaar are all under roof. As these passages wander about aimlessly, one can easily become lost in them. While one cannot rely upon the first price given, the vendors have a reputation for honesty, and a lady told us of having had her attention called to a mistake of five dollars in change and of having the money returned to her when she next visited the bazaar.

I mentioned the Oriental dog in speaking of Damascus; he forces himself upon public attention in Constantinople also. The dogs of this city act as scavengers and are relied upon to keep the streets neat—a vain reliance, for while they devour everything that they can digest, they are not sufficient for the task imposed upon them. These dogs are wolfish in appearance and generally yellow in color. Lacking the fidelity which the dog is accustomed to show to his master, these animals roam about the street and haunt the places where food is most likely to be found. The people of Constantinople assert that the dogs maintain a police force of their own, and, dividing the city into districts, enforce their own regulations. If a strange dog comes into the district, he is at once driven out by the canine sentinel on that beat.

The Golden Horn is spanned by two pontoon bridges (if the word spanned can be used in connection with such a bridge) and the one connecting the business portions of Stamboul and Galata is a veritable mint, the income from the tolls amounting at times to two thousand dollars per day. It is owned by the government, and bridge companies have offered to replace it with a good bridge for the income of two or three years, but it is so profitable that it is allowed to remain in its present dilapidated condition.

One can stand on this bridge and see all phases of life and all types of human beings. All nationalities meet in Constantinople and all colors are represented here. Two streams pass each other on this bridge from dawn to dark, and there is no better place to study the tragedies and the comedies of life as they are depicted in the faces of the people.

The haste that is to be seen on the bridge is in sharp contrast with the air of leisure which pervades the coffee houses and the side streets where fezzed or turbaned Turks meet to smoke their hubble-bubble pipes (the smoke being drawn through water) and discuss such topics as are not forbidden by the extremely watchful government under which they live.

Before leaving Constantinople we crossed over to the Asiatic side to visit the American school for girls, which has enjoyed a prosperous existence for more than twenty years. It is another evidence of the far-reaching sympathy of the Christian people of the United States and adds to the feeling of pride with which an American citizen contemplates the spreading influence of his country.

When we recrossed the Bosphorus we bade farewell to Asia, within whose borders we had spent about seven months. They have been wonderfully instructive months, and we have enjoyed the experiences through which we have passed, but we can not say that we have fallen in love with Asiatic food. We have been afraid of the raw vegetables; we have distrusted the water, unless it was boiled, and we have sometimes been skeptical about the meat. The butter has not always looked inviting, and our fondness for cream has not been increased by the sight of the goats driven from door to door and milked in the presence of the purchaser. The bread was not a rival for the Vienna brand, and the cooking has not been up to western standards. But the hen—long life to her! She has been our constant friend. When all else failed we could fall back upon the boiled egg with a sense of security and a feeling of satisfaction. If I am not henceforth a poultry fancier in the technical sense of the term, I shall return with an increased respect for the common, everyday barnyard fowl. There are many differences between the east and the west—difference in race characteristics, differences in costume, differences in ideals of life, of government and religion, but we all meet at the breakfast table—the egg, like "a touch of nature, makes the whole world kin."

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I was unable to crowd into the last article all of our experiences in the land of the Turk, so I devoted it to Constantinople, leaving to this paper the discussion of the sultan, his religion and his government. Abdul Hamud Kahn II., is the present sultan of Turkey. He is sixty-three years old and has occupied the throne for nearly thirty years. His family has been supreme in Constantinople for twenty-four generations—ever since the taking of the city by the Mohammedans. He is not only an absolute monarch throughout the domain of Turkey, but he is the spiritual head of the Moslem Church. His power is really due more to his religious position than to his sovereignty. He is credited with doing more for the spread of education than his predecessors, but he can hardly be called an enthusiastic patron of learning. He endeavors to maintain cordial relations with European powers and is on especially good terms with Emperor William. When he wants to show himself friendly to a nation he appoints some representative of that nation to a place in the army, navy or other department of the public service at a high salary, and he gives decorations to such foreigners as he desires to honor.

Every Friday about midday he goes to the mosque near the palace to pray and the occasion is one of great interest to those who are fortunate enough to obtain admission to the grounds, as his journey from the palace to the church is a brilliant pageant. Tickets of admission must be secured through the diplomatic representatives, and we are under obligations to the American legation for an opportunity to be present.

As early as eleven o'clock, bands, companies of infantry, troops of cavalry and bodies of police could be seen marching toward the mosque. From the right, over a hill, came the cavalry mounted on white horses and carrying pennants of scarlet upon their spears; from another direction marched the custodians of the sacred banner, a flag of black silk with texts from the Koran embroidered upon it in silver, then others and still others came. Before time for the sultan to appear several thousand soldiers had assembled and been assigned to their respective stations by officers in attractive uniforms. Drawn up several lines deep, they guarded every entrance to the sacred precincts.

It was a gorgeous spectacle, for the Turk is a fine looking soldier. This may account for the tenderness with which the sultan is handled by the "powers." And there is sufficient variety in the uniforms to lend picturesqueness to the scene. The invited guests occupied a large front room and an adjoining garden, from which they had a clear view of the broad street, freshly sprinkled with sand, and of the mosque about a block away. When all things were in readiness the castle gates swung open and the ladies of the court, closely veiled and accompanied by the children, proceeded to the mosque in closed carriages drawn by beautiful Arabian horses. As usual in Oriental countries, the members of the household were attended by black eunuchs.

At the appointed hour a black robed figure appeared upon the minaret and an echo-like call to prayer floated down the street. This was the signal for which the spectators had waited and all eyes turned at once to the palace gate through which, in double line, marched the high officials, preceded by a band and followed by the sultan's bodyguard and the sultan himself in a carriage with his minister of war. The officers saluted, the soldiers cheered, the visitors raised their hats, and the sultan bowed and smiled.

Hamud II. is mild in appearance and his black beard is but slightly streaked with grey. He does not look strong and his figure seems diminutive when contrasted with that of his minister of war. His imperial majesty, as he is styled, remained in the mosque for nearly half an hour. When he at last came out he entered a phaeton with his eldest son and, taking the lines himself, drove back to the palace behind one of the handsomest teams in Europe. The horses are a very dark, almost black, dappled chestnut sorrel, with silver mane and tail. They are perfectly matched, weigh thirteen or fourteen hundred pounds and the shining coats give evidence of constant care.

We obtained permission to visit the sultan's stables and saw a few, not all, of his more than a thousand horses. The finest, of course, are the Arabian stallions, of which he has quite a number, the best of the breed. In one room we saw a hundred or more saddles and bridles, many of them richly ornamented. In the collection are two Texas saddles presented by Minister Terrell when he represented our government in Constantinople.

Before passing from the Selamlik, as the procession is called, it may not be out of place to remind the reader that the ceremonies were interrupted less than a year ago by the explosion of a bomb close to the line of march. Near the mosque is a large gate which the procession passes. Outside of this gate a guard is stationed, but carriages are allowed to line up back of the guard. On that occasion a new carriage made its appearance and secured a place as near the gate as was permitted. This carriage, having been expressly built for the purpose, had a large bomb concealed under the driver's seat. The man in charge of the enterprise represented to the driver that he wanted to take a photograph of the procession just as the sultan passed, and instructed him to press the button at the proper time. He did so and a number of those near the sultan were killed, but the sultan himself escaped without injury. Greater precaution is taken now than before, but the head of the church still makes his weekly pilgrimage to the mosque, thus maintaining unbroken a record covering nearly three decades.

I hope I shall be pardoned for giving so much space to so military and spectacular a performance, but it is a scene that can be witnessed nowhere else and is the last reminder of the pomp and show that formerly characterized all the empires of the east. It may seem a little incongruous that so many swords and muskets should be brought into requisition at a religious function, but it must be remembered that Mohammedanism recognizes the sword as a legitimate agency in the spread of its creed.

I have been tempted to refer to the tenets of Mohammedanism before, for we began to meet the followers of the prophet as soon as we entered Asia, but it seemed more appropriate to consider the subject in connection with the high personage who combines the authority of a temporal ruler with the dignity of Caliph.

The Koran is the book of the law and the Moslem is not permitted to doubt its plenary inspiration. After Mahomet announced that he had been selected as a messenger of the Lord and commissioned to preach he began giving out what he declared to be revelations. They read as commands to him to "speak" and to "say." His central idea was the unity of God and his special mission the overthrow of idolatry. He emphasized the resurrection of the body and the Koran is full of promises to the faithful and as full of threats against the infidel. In the Koran God is quoted as promising: "For those who are devout are prepared with their Lord gardens through which rivers flow; therein shall they continue forever; and they shall enjoy wives free from impurity and the favor of God." For the infidel, which includes all who do not accept the prophet, the following punishment is threatened: "Verily, those who disbelieve our signs, we will surely cast to be broiled in hell fire; so often as their skin shall be well burned, we will give them other skins in exchange, that they may taste the sharper punishment; for God is mighty and wise."

Through the Koran he not only credited God with the creation and with a care for all the wants of man, but he also declared that God deceived and misled some while He guided others aright. In one revelation he makes God say: "They who accuse our signs of falsehood, are deaf and dumb, walking in darkness; God will lead into error whom He pleaseth, and whom He pleaseth He will put in the right way."

He accepted the Old Testament and counted Christ among the prophets. In one of the revelations, he declares that he is commanded to say: "We believe in God and that which hath been sent down unto us, and that which hath been sent down unto Abraham, and Ishmael and Isaac, and Jacob, and the tribes, and that which was delivered unto Moses, and Jesus, and that which was delivered unto the prophets from their Lord; we make no distinction between any of them and to God we are resigned." In the beginning of his ministry, his revelations were friendly to the Jews, whom he at first attempted to conciliate, but when they rejected him, he gave out other revelations which treated the Jews with great severity. He started out to rely upon reason and an appeal to conscience, and by persuasion he formed the nucleus of his church, but as he grew stronger his revelations became more warlike in tone and at last he committed the Almighty to relentless warfare against the infidel. Here is the language which he imputes to God: "O Prophet, wage war against the unbelievers and the hypocrites, and be severe unto them, for their dwelling shall be hell; an unhappy journey shall it be thither!" At another time, he told his followers that they would be asked whether it was proper to war in the sacred month and he instructed them to answer: "The temptation to idolatry is more grievous than to kill in the sacred months."

On many questions the advice which he gave through the Koran was all that could be desired. He urged justice in dealings between man and man and strict administration of trusts, care for the orphan and widow and charity toward the poor. He condemned the use of intoxicating liquor and gambling, saying: "They will ask thee concerning wine and lots; answer, in both there is great sin, and also some things of use unto men; but their sinfulness is greater than their use." As to alms-giving the measure was to be, "what ye have to spare."

While plurality of wives was allowed—and Mahomet exercised the privilege to the limit, furnishing a new revelation when necessary to justify a new marriage—the virtue of the women is scrupulously guarded by the Moslem code. The women are not allowed to mingle with men, and this is one of the weaknesses of Mohammedanism. In Mohammedan society the influence of women counts for little and as a result the followers of Islam are sluggards in intellectual pursuits. In the Philippines the Mohammedans form the lowest stratum of the population; in Java they are just awakening to the necessity for education; in India they are behind the Hindu and still farther behind the Parsee; in Egypt they bring up the rear as they do also in Syria and Palestine. Only where they have come into contact with Christian civilization have they been stimulated to the discussion of schools and questions of government.

It must be admitted, however, that some of the customs of Europe and America have tended to prejudice the followers of Mahomet against western civilization. One who was in attendance at a banquet given during the recent Morocco conference told me of the astonishment of some of the Mohammedan representatives at what they saw. When the ladies appeared in evening dress they, remembering the veiled ladies of their own land, asked: "Do your women always dress this way?" When wine was brought on, they asked: "Do all of your people drink wine?" And when, after dinner, dancing began, they asked: "Do the women dance with their own husbands only?" The answers to some of these inquiries seemed to astonish them.

While Mohammedanism, as established by its founder, still holds the allegiance of many scores of millions, influencing them for good in many respects and for evil in some; while these orthodox followers of the prophet kneel at stated hours each day and pray toward Mecca, all of them, who have not done so, hoping to make the pilgrimage commanded of them—while these are keeping the letter of the Koran there is a reform at work which may yet leaven the whole lump.

Abbas Effendi, now a political prisoner at Akka, in Palestine, is the head of the reform movement. He was born in Persia and is carrying on the work to which his father and grandfather devoted their lives. He discards force as a means of propagating truth, and while he does not command monogamy, has set the example by having but one wife. While Abbas Effendi's father preached moral suasion his followers were charged with revolutionary designs and the family was exiled. After remaining a time at Constantinople under the surveillance of the sultan, the reform leaders were removed to Akka, a seaport not far from Haifa. Here, surrounded by few followers, the son holds such communication as he can with the rest of the church in Persia, his doctrines having as yet taken but little root among the Turks and Arabs. It is believed in Akka that he receives financial aid from a number of wealthy Americans who have become interested in his work.

We called upon Abbas Effendi as we were leaving Palestine and found him an earnest old man with a careworn but kindly face. His hair and beard are grey and he speaks with animation when his favorite topic is under discussion. His doctrines are something like those of Tolstoy, but he does not carry the doctrine of non-resistance so far as does the Russian philosopher. How much he may be able to do in the way of eliminating the objectionable features of Mohammedanism no one can say, but it is a hopeful sign that there is among the followers of Mahomet an organized effort to raise the plane of discussion from brute force to an appeal to intelligence.

The government of the sultan is the worst on earth. It is more despotic than the Russian government ever was and adds corruption to despotism. The czar has convoked a duma, the dowager empress of China has sent her commissioners abroad with a view to establishing a constitution, and even the khedive of Egypt has a council, but the sultan still rules by his arbitrary will, taking life or granting favor according to his pleasure. He lives in constant fear of assassination and yet he does not seem to have learned that his own happiness, as well as justice to the people, demands that the government shall rest upon the will of the governed.

While in the sultan's realm, we learned something of the cruelty practiced by his officials—let us hope without his knowledge—for while he is responsible for the conduct of his appointees he may not know all the evil done in his name. Not long ago a young student was arrested and imprisoned because a paper was found in his house which contained Gladstone's statement that the sultan was an assassin. It was only a scrap of paper and had been given him because the other side contained an advertisement for a hair restorer and he, in taking the paper to his house, did not know of the offensive quotation. Another young man was kept in prison until he died because a book was found in his possession containing a picture of the sultan under which some one, unknown to him, had written the word dog. A third man was arrested because in ordering an engine he sent a telegram containing the words: "Seventy revolutions." In his original order he neglected to state the number of revolutions and sent the telegram in answer to an inquiry. A fourth man was imprisoned because he received a telegram inquiring about a burglary, the authorities mistaking the word "burglary" for the word "Bulgaria," where the authorities were expecting an uprising. These instances—and we heard of many more—are given simply to show that the citizen of Turkey is in constant danger of imprisonment, however innocent he may be of any intention to violate the law.

But it is in the realm of the censor that the most amusing cases have occurred. The officials are destroying a great many books just now in Turkey and are very careful about the introduction of new ones. Recently the wife of a justice of the peace, frightened by the confiscation of books in the houses of her neighbors, thought to avoid all possible danger by burning her husband's library, but her hope was vain for her husband was arrested as a dangerous character on the ground that he must have had a library. As he was holding a judicial position the fact that he no longer had books was a sufficient ground for suspicion.

Religious publications are subjected to very strict censorship. Sunday school lessons have been cut out because they quoted from the Old Testament in regard to the killing of kings and the word "Christian" is often added before sinners in order to make the text exclude Mohammedans. A Sunday school lesson about Joash, the Boy King, was objected to because the authorities did not think it proper to suggest that a boy could be king. The above are actual cases, but they have given rise to jokes that go a little farther. For instance, they say that dynamos are not allowed in Turkey because the name sounds like dynamite and that chemistries have been excluded because the formula for water, "H₂O," is suspected of meaning, "Hamud II is a cypher."

I have had a little experience with a censor myself. At Beyrout, one of the Turkish ports, a copy of the Koran and a copy of the Life of Abbas Effendi were taken from me by the censor. I had no objection to his holding them during my stay in the country, but when he informed me that they would have to be sent to Constantinople I demurred, and with the aid of our representative, Consul General Bergholz, not only secured the books, but secured a promise that the right of American citizens to carry books would not in the future be interfered with at that port.

In conclusion, I desire to add that we ought to have an ambassador instead of a minister at Constantinople. According to the custom prevailing in the sultan's realm, a minister is not on equal footing with ambassadors, and as other nations have ambassadors there American interests suffer. We have eighteen cases now awaiting adjustment. According to our law our appointment of an ambassador to any country depends upon that country's willingness to send an ambassador to us. This is a false basis. Our action should not depend upon what other nations do, but upon our diplomatic needs, and we need an ambassador at Constantinople whether Turkey needs one at Washington or not. I understand that the question is already being considered in congress, and from observation I am satisfied that the time has come for the raising of our legation to the dignity of an embassy, that American interests and the rights of American citizens may have proper protection in Turkey, for nowhere is there greater need for the introduction of American ideas.[8]

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Southeastern Europe is out of the line of travel and little known to us, if I can measure the knowledge of others by my own. In order to learn something of this section we came northwest from Constantinople through Bulgaria, Servia and Hungary. We passed through European Turkey in the night, and morning found us in Bulgaria, where nothing but an occasional minaret remained to remind us of the Orient. Strange that so great a difference exists between two populations separated for centuries by nothing but an imaginary line. No more the Turk with his wealth of leisure, his baggy trousers and his gay headgear, but the sturdy peasant working in the field with his unveiled wife or trudging along the road carrying his produce to market; no more begging for baksheesh by lame and halt and blind, but a busy, industrious throng, each laboring apparently with a purpose and a hope. All day long we rode past well cultivated fields and tidy villages. The Bulgarians, judged by appearance, might be thought a mixture of German and Italian, but they are really Slavic in their origin. I had the good fortune to meet a former minister, a very intelligent man with a good command of English, and learned from him that there is a strong democratic sentiment in that country and that the people are making constant progress in the matter of education and political intelligence.

He said that during his ministry he had introduced into Bulgaria the American homestead law and that it had resulted in an increase in the number of peasant proprietors. It was gratifying to know that American example had been helpful to people so remote from us. He also spoke of the establishment in his country of state insurance against hail, that being one of the greatest perils the farmer has to meet. He said that the system had worked well. The railroads and telegraph lines are also owned by the state in Bulgaria and are operated very successfully.

The capital, Sofia, is a prosperous looking city, viewed from the railroad, and has an elevation of some fifteen hundred feet.

We crossed the Balkan mountains and the second morning reached Belgrade, the capital of Servia. The city has a fine location on a bluff at the junction of the Save with the Danube. A day's visit here gave an opportunity to see something of the population, as it was Sunday and the streets and parks were filled with well-dressed, well-behaved and intelligent looking people. The Servians, who are also Slavic in origin, are members of the Greek Church, and at the principal church of this denomination there was that day a large congregation and an impressive service. King Peter, it will be remembered, is the present ruler, having been called to the throne three years ago when his predecessor was assassinated. The brutalities attending the murder of King Alexander and his wife were widely discussed at the time, the bodies of the king and queen being thrown from the window of the palace into the park. While the new sovereign was recognized by most of the powers of Europe, England refused to send a representative to his court because the king retained some high officials who participated in the assassination. As Servia has a parliament which controls the ministry, and as this parliament was hostile to the former king, King Peter was powerless to comply with the conditions imposed by England—at least this was the explanation given to me. I heard next day at Budapest, however, that some satisfactory settlement had been reached and that England would soon be represented at Belgrade. King Peter is not of humble ancestry, as I had supposed, but is a grandson of a former king who was conspicuous in the war for independence. Peter himself was in exile in Switzerland at the time of his elevation to the throne, and having during his residence there imbibed something of the spirit of constitutional liberty, is much more popular than was his predecessor. There is quite a close connection between Servia, Roumania, Bulgaria and European Turkey, and it will not be surprising if the last remnant of Turkish territory in Europe is, before many years, released from the sultan's rule and a federation of Balkan states created. A majority of the sultan's European subjects belong to different branches of the Christian Church, and but for their quarrels among themselves they would long before this have been able to imitate Servia and Bulgaria in emancipating themselves.

The ride up the Danube valley from Belgrade to Budapest and from Budapest to the Austrian boundary gives one a view of one of the richest sections of Hungary. While the Danube hardly justifies the poetic praise that has described its waters as blue, it is a majestic stream, and its broad valley supports a large agricultural population.

No American can visit Hungary without having his sympathies enlisted in behalf of its people, for theirs is a fascinating history. Their country is one of the most favored in Europe so far as nature's blessings go. The Carpathian mountains which form a wall around it on the north and east, shut out the cold winds and by turning back the warmer winds from the south, give to Hungary a more temperate climate than other European countries in the same latitude, and in few countries has agriculture been more fostered by the state.

The present minister of agriculture, Dr. Ignatius Daramyi, has been at the head of this department for ten years, and being an enthusiast on the subject, he has introduced many new features and brought his department into close contact with the people. During his administration the annual appropriations for agriculture have increased from about eight million dollars to about thirteen millions, and the income from his department has risen from six million dollars to nine millions, leaving the net cost to the state at present some four million dollars per year.

Hungary believes in furnishing technical training to those who intend to farm; she had twenty-two industrial schools, with about six hundred pupils, and these schools are so distributed as to make them convenient for the small farmers. She has four secondary schools of agriculture, with a total attendance of over five hundred, and to complete her system she has an agricultural academy with a student body of one hundred and fifty. In order to accommodate adults who have not had the advantage of these schools, she has short winter terms and traveling instructors. By systematic effort the agricultural department is not only increasing the efficiency of the Hungarian as a tiller of the soil, but it is increasing his general intelligence and raising the standard of citizenship.

The experiment station is also a prominent feature of the work of the department of agriculture. All new agricultural implements are tested and reports are furnished upon their merits; there are several seed-testing stations where farmers can secure at cost price, not only selected seeds, but seed shown by experiment to be suited to the climate and soil of their locality. Then there are a number of model farms located at convenient points, which are intended to be object lessons to the neighborhoods in which they are situated. At these model farms and at other centers breeding establishments are conducted where horses, cattle, hogs and sheep of the best breeds are kept and loaned to the farmers about. These breeding farms have resulted in a marked improvement in the quality and value of the stock.

Nor does the agricultural department confine its attention to stock raising and ordinary farming; it is equally interested in horticulture, vine dressing, forestry, and even bee culture. Government nurseries furnish the hardiest varieties of young trees and vines and train those who desire to give special attention to these branches of industry. Instruction in the pruning of trees and the training of vines has an artistic as well as a utilitarian side, and taste is developed in the ornamentation of the arbors and gardens. Here, as elsewhere in Europe, much attention is given to forestry, and under the direction of the department of agriculture the work of preserving the old forests and of planting new groves is being intelligently and systematically done.

In addition to the work above outlined, the agricultural department has taken in hand the matter of furnishing general information to the farmers and farm laborers. It encourages the formation of workingmen's clubs, co-operative societies and parochial relief funds. It has established more than one thousand free libraries and publishes a weekly paper with a circulation of about sixty thousand. More than half of the copies are published in the Hungarian language, the rest being divided between five other languages, the Slavic coming next to the Hungarian and the German following, although less than ten per cent are printed in the latter language. To strengthen the ties between employers and employés, harvest feasts have been inaugurated and the attendance at these feasts is yearly increasing.

I have gone into detail somewhat in describing the scope of the work undertaken by the agricultural department of Hungary because I think that we might, with advantage, adopt some of its features. Our national appropriation for agricultural purposes bears a small proportion, not only to the amount of taxes paid by the farmer, but to the appropriations made for other departments.

Budapest, the capital of Hungary, is one of the most attractive cities in Europe. In 1896 I received a cablegram of congratulation from a farmers' congress which was at that time in session in that city. I remembered this because it was the only cablegram received from any body of Europeans during the campaign.

Originally there were two cities, Buda on the south bank and Pesth on the north bank, but they were united under one municipal government some years ago, the names of the old towns being preserved in the new. The foothills of the Alps extend to the very bank of the Danube and furnish magnificent sites for villas, forts, public buildings and the royal palace, while on the opposite bank there is a broad plain, which affords ample room for the rapidly extending limits of the commercial and manufacturing sections of the city. Several bridges connect Buda and Pesth so that the river, while a great thoroughfare, no longer divides the business and the official sections. The streets of Budapest are wide, well paved, clean and lined with buildings quite uniform in height, one of the avenues rivaling the Champs-Elysees in Paris and Unter den Linden in Berlin; the parks are large and near the city; the business blocks are imposing and the public buildings models in design and construction. The parliament building, only recently completed, is one of the handsomest in the world.

The Hungarian people are distinct in language and history from all their neighbors. In fact, the Hungarians differ in many respects from all the other people of Europe, the inhabitants of Finland being their nearest kinspeople. Their early history is unknown, but they came from western Asia where the Mongolians, the Turks and the Finn-Ugrians struggled for mastery about the beginning of the Christian era. They were first known as Huns and claim Attila as one of their race. They have more often, however, used the word Magyars to describe their people, that name being a popular one at present. Their occupation of the present territory dates from about the ninth century, since which time they have figured prominently in the history of Europe. About the beginning of the eleventh century Hungary, under the leadership of King Stephen (later known as St. Stephen) became a Christian nation, and since that time she has been conspicuous in all the religious wars of Europe. In the fifteenth century she furnished the leader of the Christian army in the person of John Hunyadi, one of the greatest military geniuses of that period. His prominence in war brought his son Matthias to the throne of Hungary, a king who, when warned of a plot against his life, exclaimed: "Let no king, ruling justly and lawfully, fear the poison and assassin's dagger of his subjects."

As early as the thirteenth century, Hungary began to inaugurate political reforms, and in 1222 her nobility ended a struggle of a hundred years by securing a concession which is regarded by her people as equal in importance to England's Magna Charta of 1215. It was in the form of a royal letter, issued by Andrew II. and called the Golden Bull, owing to the fact that the seal attached to it by a silk string rests in a box of gold. This document contained certain promises to the nobles and admitted the binding force of certain restrictions upon the king. The Golden Bull was the beginning of constitutional government in Hungary, and while it has not always been strictly observed by her rulers, it has served as a basis for subsequent negotiations. For several centuries they elected their kings.

During the nearly seven hundred years which have elapsed since 1222 Hungary has had a checkered career. Rival aspirants for the throne have fought over the succession and been aided in their ambition by neighboring nations; kings and nobles have fought over their respective authority; the nobility and the peasants have fought over their rights; different branches of the Christian Church have been at war with each other, for Hungary has been the eastern outpost of Protestantism as well as a champion of Christianity; and more recently Hungary has been fighting for her political independence. Hers has been a long drawn-out struggle in which her people, time and again, have almost been exterminated, but she emerges from it all a strong, vigorous and militant nation. She is now a part of the Austro-Hungarian empire, and her people form the largest homogeneous group in the empire: When we consider the numerous wars between Austria and Hungary, the difference in race, history and language, and the dissimilarity in political training, it is not strange that there should be lack of harmony between the empire as a whole and its largest single member.

When Hungary turned to Austria for help against the Turks and came under the Hapsburg line, she insisted upon a recognition of her national rights and secured a promise that her people should have control of their own affairs. While this alliance did not save her from the Mohammedans, it united her destiny to that of Austria, but she has never surrendered her independence. The crown of Hungary has always been distinct from that of Austria, and the emperor of Austro-Hungary must visit Budapest and receive with the crown of St. Stephen the title of king of Hungary. Joseph II., son of the beloved Maria Theresa, was the first king to refuse to receive the crown and swear fidelity to the Hungarian constitution, and the Hungarians would never call him their "crowned king" until, on his deathbed, he retracted his arbitrary measures and permitted the restoration of the constitution.

In her struggle for liberty Hungary has developed many patriots, among whom Louis Kossuth is the best known. He and Francis Deak were the leaders of the revolution of 1848 which resulted in the constitution of that year. The constitution of 1867 was not quite so liberal, and these two constitutions form the basis of the present political division in Hungary; all Hungarians are jealous of the rights of their nation but the majority of the members of parliament insist upon the recognition of the constitution of 1848.

The elder Kossuth lived in exile after the revolution of 1867 and was during his exile enthusiastically received in the United States by congress and by the people in general. Kossuth's son is now a member of the coalition ministry, and at a banquet to which I had the good fortune to be invited, spoke feelingly of the treatment which his father received in the United States and of the high regard felt by Hungarians for America and Americans. Count Apponyi, the foremost orator of Hungary, also paid his respects to the United States and likened our country to the forwarding station in wireless telegraphy, saying that the political current was so strong in our country that its messages were carried to all the world.

I happened to be in Budapest at the opening of parliament and heard the speech of the new premier, Dr. Wekerle. The independence party has a large majority in the parliament, having shown increasing strength at each successive election. The emperor, Francis Joseph, is resisting one of the demands made by the Hungarians, viz., that the army shall use the Hungarian language instead of the German language. Some years ago the fight was made and won for the use of the Hungarian language in schools, in the courts and in parliament, and the Hungarians feel that their nationality is endangered by the fact that their army is taught only the German words of command. The emperor takes the position that the use of the Hungarian language would destroy the unity of the imperial army. To prevent a rupture he proposed the formation of a coalition cabinet, to hold until the suffrage could be extended and the question again submitted to the people. There is no doubt that the people are practically unanimous in favor of their own language and that an extension of the suffrage will not change the complexion of parliament. The relations between the emperor and Hungary have become very much strained, and the aversion to the German language is so pronounced that Hungarians who can speak the German language will often refuse to answer a question addressed to them in German. For Francis Joseph himself the Hungarians have a strong affection, and they would be glad to contribute to the happiness of his closing days, but they feel that the interests of their nation are vitally concerned and they are anxious to have the point at issue settled before a new sovereign ascends the throne. If the emperor were left to himself, he would probably conclude that a Hungarian fighting force, attached to the empire and grateful for consideration shown their country, would form a more effective part of a joint army, even though the Hungarians spoke their own language, than troops compelled to learn a language hateful to them. History furnishes many examples of successful armies made of corps, divisions and regiments speaking different languages, but less numerous are the instances of nations successfully held together by force when one part of the empire was made subservient to the interests of another part. Hungary is being alienated by insistence upon requirements which do not in reality strengthen the empire, while she might be drawn closer to the throne by a more liberal policy. The end is not yet.

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Reference has already been made to the attitude of Hungary, in the article on Hungary and Her Neighbors, toward Austria, and what is true of Hungary is to a less extent true of Bohemia and the Polish section of the empire. In fact, Austria-Hungary is held together by a rope of sand, and there is no telling when that rope may break. It required the aid of Russia to hold Hungary within the empire a half century ago, and now that Russia is no longer in position to bolster up the Hapsburg house, the outlook is not bright for the family of Francis Joseph, unless the friendship of Emperor William takes the form of armed assistance. I mention this because the anti-Austrian feeling in Hungary, the anti-Hungarian feeling in Austria, the aversion to the German language in Bohemia, and the demands of the Polish subjects, not to speak of disaffection elsewhere, all point to trouble ahead for the ruler of Austria-Hungary. I visited Bohemia with a view to gathering information on the situation and was surprised to find the hostility between the German and Bohemian elements. A half century ago the German language was spoken everywhere in Bohemia, but to-day the Germans and Bohemians have separate schools and, except where business interest compels it neither learns the language of the other. So strong is the feeling that a Bohemian, desiring to master the German language, would, if financially able, study it outside of Bohemia in preference to attending a German school in his own country.

It is a great misfortune to the people of Hungary and Bohemia, as well as to the imperial government, that this hostility to the German language has become so bitter, for the German is one of the great languages of the earth, being the spoken tongue of more than fifty millions and containing in printed form most of the literary treasures of the world. The German libraries are rich in treatises on science and art, history and philosophy, government and religion, and these should be within reach of the people of Hungary and Bohemia. Whatever may be the merits of the Magyar and the Czech languages, they are spoken by so few, comparatively, that they can not possibly furnish so large a store of learning as the German language contains.

The Austrian government, however, has itself to blame for the estrangement; for, instead of attempting to win the affections of the alien people made subject to it, it attempted to coerce them, with the usual result. Resentment toward the rulers soon turned into resentment toward the language, and it became patriotic to abhor a tongue which it would have been advantageous to cultivate. Human nature is the same everywhere, but kings seem to be as ignorant of it as they are of the lessons of history.

The Austria-Hungary empire can not exist long under its present regime; if it is to continue, the bond of union must be a substantial one and no bond of union is substantial that does not knit itself about the hearts of both parties to the union. There are certain advantages to be derived from the association of several small states together, but these advantages can not be weighed against fundamental rights or against a strong national sentiment. Cold, calculating statesmen sometimes underestimate the influence of sentiment, but they usually discover their error, sometimes too late, if they attempt to trample upon it. Austria-Hungary as a federation of states, each absolutely independent in its internal affairs, would be strong, but Austria-Hungary, composed of dissatisfied groups, all yielding unwillingly to an arrogant Austrian influence, is pitiably weak.

The tie which holds Canada, Australia and New Zealand to England is infinitely stronger than that which binds Hungary and Bohemia to the Austria-Hungarian throne. And why? Not because they use the same language, for the American colonies wrote the Declaration of Independence in the same tongue that George III. employed. Canada, Australia and New Zealand are loyal to England because England allows them to do as they please. If a British parliament acted toward these colonies as the imperial government acts toward Hungary and Bohemia, even a common language and a common history could not prevent a separation. "There is a scattering that increaseth," says Solomon, "and a withholding of more than is meet, but it tendeth to penury." The proverb can be applied to governments, and Francis Joseph might consider it with profit.

It must be remembered that Bohemia is no insignificant part of the empire. It has an area of twenty thousand square miles and a population of more than six millions, and is rich in minerals and in manufactures. It is noted for glass works, Bohemian glass having a world-wide reputation. It has important textile industries also, and its agriculture has been carried to a high state of perfection. It has played a conspicuous part in the history of central Europe, is rich in heroes and possesses a strong national spirit.

Prague, its capital city, has long been an educational center and is still the seat of its intellectual as well as its political life. There is a very complete industrial school at the capital, which contributes in no small degree to the country's prominence in manufacturing. Just now Bohemia is the Mecca for violinists, America contributing her quota of students.

John Huss's church is still one of Prague's landmarks, although the Catholic Church has regained its supremacy. The Hradschin and the public buildings surrounding the Hradschiner Platz are of historic interest, as is also the old Jewish burying ground.

Our American consul at Prague, Mr. Ledoux, has inaugurated a very praiseworthy index system for the collection and preservation of information of value to importers and exporters. He has converted one room of the consular office into a reading room where American trade papers are kept for the business public and where a list of American exporters with a description of their wares may be examined by those desiring to purchase. It is an application of the public library system to trade and struck me as likely to be of value in increasing our sales.

Carlsbad is only a few hours ride from Prague, and I took advantage of that fact to visit it. It is built along the narrow and winding valley of the Tepl and is nearly twelve hundred feet above the sea. It has been a health resort for some six or seven centuries and is now visited yearly by more than fifty thousand invalids. The water is hot, and the numerous springs seem to come from a common reservoir. The principal spring, called the Sprudel, has a temperature of one hundred and sixty-four degrees and contains sulphate of soda, carbonate of soda and common salt. The solid substances deposited by the water soon form into a very hard rock which takes a polish like marble. These deposits gather so rapidly that all pipes leading from the springs, and the springs themselves, must be frequently cleaned or they would soon be choked up.

Liver complaint is the disease which brings most visitors to Carlsbad, and I was surprised to find that, instead of being a fashionable resort, a majority of the patrons are of the middle classes. It is a city of boarding houses and small hotels with a few larger establishments. By eleven o'clock P. M., the streets are deserted and the town asleep, probably because the early morning is the time for drinking the water. I rose at five and with our vice consul at Prague, Mr. Weissburger, as my guide, hurried to the springs; the invalids were even then beginning to come forth, each with his mug, and soon there was a swarm of them. The city has erected large pavilions at several of the springs, and at two of these bands play between six and eight. By 6:30 the streets were crowded and the pavilions jammed. The numerous attendants were kept busy filling the mugs (which are put into long handled holders) from the gushing fountains. At the time of the Lisbon earthquake the largest spring is said to have ceased its flow for three days.

Riding through Bohemia at this time of the year, one sees a great deal of fine farming land, the only unpleasant feature being the number of women at work in the fields and along the roads. The more one sees of the world, the more he can appreciate the remark of the witty Frenchman, Max O'Rell, who, in his lecture on "Her Royal Highness, Woman," declares that if he were going to be born one of that sex, he would pray to be born in America. Woman's position in our country is not only vastly superior to her position in Asia, but very much better than the position of the average woman in continental Europe.

Vienna is not only the capital of the Austria-Hungarian empire, but is one of the greatest cities of Europe. It is worth visiting for its architecture alone, its public buildings combining massiveness and grace. It is also rich in monuments and statuary and well supplied with drives, parks and places of amusement. The boulevards are lined with restaurants, each with a large yard filled with tables and chairs, the refreshments being served in the open air during the summer months. These places are thronged in the evening and on Sunday afternoon, families often bringing their lunch baskets and buying their coffee or beer at the restaurant.

The coffee houses, as they are found in Vienna, deserve mention. These are scattered all over the city and are very popular. Newspapers are usually kept on file and the customers read the events of the day while they sip their coffee or beer.

Vienna is a musical center, and its theaters are not surpassed anywhere. We attended a production of Faust there, a French opera built upon Goethe's great drama, and found the theater constructed with a special view to the accommodation of a large orchestra. Nor is it strange that music should be so distinguishing a feature of Viennese life when it is remembered that it was the home of Strauss, of Haydn, of Mozart, of Shubert and of Beethoven, not to speak of a number of lesser lights.

Vienna is also famous for its educational institutions. Its university has an honorable record of more than five centuries, and its medical college is attended by students from every land.

Vienna is also an example in the matter of municipal ownership, it having gone beyond all the other cities on the continent in the taking over of what are known as the natural monopolies. It finds it not only possible to own and operate its water works, lighting plants and tramways, but it finds it profitable to do so; the profits which, under private ownership, go to the stockholders, accruing in Vienna to the whole people. So successful is municipal ownership in practice that opposition to the principle has been silenced. Those who, in the United States, are struggling in spite of the influence of organized wealth, exerted through subsidized newspapers, corrupted councils and sometimes even through a biased judiciary, to restore the streets of our cities to the public, can find encouragement in Vienna's experience. The conflict can have but one end, namely, triumph for municipal ownership. "Sorrow may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."

Austria-Hungary has a well developed system of forestry; I noticed this on a former visit and made inquiries about it this time. There is a law compelling the planting of a tree whenever one is cut down, and not content with maintaining the present number, the denuded hills are being replanted. It seems difficult to turn public attention to any subject until some abuse has made action imperative, but the sooner our country awakes to the danger involved in the destruction of our timber, the less we shall be compelled to suffer for the enormous waste committed in our forests.

I have been intending for some time to speak of the matter of permanent buildings for our embassies, and Vienna is a case in point. Our ambassador at Vienna, Mr. Francis, has had difficulty in finding a suitable place for the embassy. I discussed the subject during my former visit abroad, and my observations on this trip have still further strengthened the opinion that our country owes it to itself, as well as its representatives, to purchase or erect at each of the foreign capitals a permanent embassy building. At present each new ambassador or minister must begin his official career with a house-hunting expedition, and the local landlords, knowing this, are quick to take advantage of the situation. At one place an American ambassador was recently asked to pay double what his predecessor had paid, and as he was not willing to do this, he is still living at a hotel. There are not many suitable buildings from which to select, and our representative is at the mercy of those who control the limited supply. Diplomatic requirements are such that the embassy must be centrally located and sufficiently commodious to enable the ambassador or minister to return the courtesies which he receives. Small apartments are numerous, and there are a few palaces which can be rented, but the former are not large enough and the latter much larger than necessary. Our government ought to own a building conveniently located and suitable for the offices and home of the ambassador. It must either do this or choose between two systems, both of which are bad, viz., compel the representative to spend more than his salary for house rent, or continually increase the salary of diplomatic representatives to keep pace with the growing rent in the capitals of the world. To throw the burden upon the government's representative is undemocratic; to risk constantly increasing rent is false economy. It is not in harmony with our theory of government to have an important branch of the public service open to rich men only, and that is the case under the present system. No poor man can afford to accept an appointment as an American minister or ambassador to any of the principal countries of Europe, and as the years go by, the expense of a diplomatic residence will become greater as the value of urban property increases. While the telegraph and the cable have considerably decreased the responsibility of the foreign representative, by bringing him into closer contact with the home government, still much depends upon the ability, the sagacity and the discretion of those whom we send abroad. Our government ought to be in a position to select from the whole citizen body those most competent for the work to be entrusted to them, and it goes without saying that efficiency in the public service is not measured by the amount of money which an official has either inherited or accumulated.

There is another argument in favor of the building of permanent embassy buildings which ought to have weight with our people. If diplomatic representatives are chosen only from those who are able to spend more than their official incomes, it naturally follows that some will be richer than others and that the establishments maintained will differ in expensiveness. In fact, experience has shown that a new representative is sometimes embarrassed by the lavish expenditures of a preceding one. The standing of our nation abroad demands that our ambassadors and ministers shall live in a style in keeping with our ideas, and extravagance is as offensive as parsimony. By owning its own embassy buildings our government can regulate the standard of living and entertainment of those who represent it at foreign courts. There is no doubt that our nation must ultimately come to this plan, and the sooner it adopts it, the better.[9]

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There is at least one man in Russia who has reason to feel that his political judgment has been vindicated and his predictions verified by the assembling of the duma. It is Count Ignatieff, who, at the age of twenty-eight, framed the Pekin treaty and who, as minister of the interior (the highest cabinet position at that time), in 1881 formulated a plan for a national assembly. His scheme was to have three thousand representatives elected by the people, these representatives, gathered from all parts of the empire, to meet at Moscow and confer with the emperor in person in regard to legislative measures. In order to avoid the objections raised to so large an assembly, he proposed to divide the body into groups of one hundred each, these groups to meet separately. He secured the approval of the emperor, but the other members of the cabinet were so strenuous in their opposition that the emperor decided not to attempt the reform and Count Ignatieff resigned from the ministry. He warned his associates that a failure to recognize the demands of the people for representation in the government would simply delay the change and that it was better to yield before the demands became more radical, but the members of the bureaucracy, deaf to the appeals of the people and blind to their own interests, resisted, and as a result a duma is now in session at St. Petersburg, the bureaucracy finds itself an object of contempt and loathing, and the present emperor, like his predecessor, has to bear the sins of his advisers.

I called upon Count Ignatieff and found him still vigorous in spite of his grey hairs and advancing years. I was interested in him not only because he is friendly toward our country and speaks our language fluently, but more especially because he was a pioneer in a great movement and foresaw what many of the nobility even now fail to recognize, viz., that there is no place where arbitrary power can justify its existence. The tide of progress has swept past the Count, and he is now classed among the conservatives, but he deserves to be remembered because he had the courage to speak out when it required bravery to propose the taking of a step in the direction of popular government.

The duma is the result of the labors of hundreds, yes, thousands of Russian reformers, a few conspicuous, but the most of them unknown to fame, who for more than seventy-five years have been insisting upon constitutional government. It is one of the most remarkable bodies of men ever convened in a national capital, and I have been abundantly repaid for coming here. The duma must be seen to be appreciated; even more, to understand it one must not only see the members, but must know something of the struggle through which they have passed. I am satisfied that the czar himself is more liberal than his advisers and that, left to himself, he would long ago have made concessions which would have brought the throne and the subjects nearer together, but he has yielded so slowly and given so grudgingly that the people have become very much estranged. To illustrate this I need only cite the facts, first as to the election. St. Petersburg and Moscow are the political centers where the officials and the nobility have the strongest representation, and yet in the elections the constitutional democrats won an overwhelming victory in both these cities. In St. Petersburg the ticket which represented the emperor received only two thousand votes out of a total vote of sixty thousand, and in his home precinct, where three hundred voters were sent to the polls in court carriages, his ticket received only eighty votes! Could anything more clearly prove the frail hold of the government upon the people? And it must be remembered that they do not have universal suffrage in the cities, but a property qualification which excludes the poorest of the people, the very ones who have most reason to desire popular government.

The second proof of the feeling against the government is to be found in the unanimity with which the duma opposes the position taken by the government's minister. While the members of the duma are divided among themselves on many questions, they act as one man in their opposition to the government's policy, insofar as that policy has been outlined. In fact, the tension has been so great that I was afraid the body might be dissolved by imperial order before we could reach St. Petersburg.

The sessions of the duma are held in a palace built by Catherine the Great for one of her favorites, General Potemkin. It is a commodious building and has been remodeled to meet present needs. The largest room, extending the entire width of the building, was once the ballroom and some notable entertainments have been given in it—entertainments calling for a lavish expenditure and attended only by the nobility; now the room serves as a lobby, and peasant representatives, wearing the usual blouse and top boots, stride through it as they go to and from the sessions. In another part of the building there are ample dining rooms where the members of the duma and the press may secure meals at very moderate rates. The assembly hall is large enough to accommodate the four hundred and fifty members, but is badly lighted. The windows are all back of the speaker's platform, so that the members sit with their faces towards the light. It would be much better if the light came from above, but it is really surprising that the accommodations are as satisfactory as they are, considering the short time the workmen had to make the necessary changes.

Back of the president is a life-sized painting of the czar in uniform; on the left is a box occupied by the ministers when present, and beyond the ministers is a still larger enclosure occupied by the representatives of the foreign press. To the right of the president are seats for members of the council of empire who may be in attendance, and beyond them the enclosure occupied by representatives of the Russian press. Just in front and a little below the president's desk is the rostrum from which the members of the duma address the assembly, and just below this rostrum is the reporters' table where the stenographers take down the proceedings. Besides the rooms already mentioned there are committee rooms, cloak rooms, rooms for the home press and for the foreign press, etc., etc. In a word, the duma building looks very much like an American legislative hall or a European parliament building—a likeness still further emphasized by the presence of men and women clerks, doorkeepers, pages and spectators. One thing only was out of harmony with a legislative body, and that was a company of soldiers stationed in a wing of the building as if in anticipation of possible trouble. We were present at two sessions of the duma and found them intensely interesting. The morning session is at present given up to speeches on the land question, more than a third of the members having expressed a desire to be heard on this subject. The speeches are usually short and often read from manuscript. Hand-clapping is allowed, and there was always applause at the close of the speeches. Occasionally the president announced that some speaker on the list surrendered his time and this statement also brought forth applause, the discussion of the subject having by this time become tiresome.

By the courtesy of our ambassador, Mr. Meyer, we were admitted to the diplomatic gallery, from which we could survey the entire body. There is probably no assembly like it on either hemisphere. It is made up of all classes and represents every shade of opinion. There are members of the nobility who have cast in their lot with the people, lawyers who have temporarily left their practice to devote themselves to the larger interests of the public, professors fresh from the universities, business men from the cities, laboring men from the factories, and there are, most numerous still, peasants from the farms. Some of the members are near the end of life and command attention by their years as well as by their words, and there is a sprinkling of young men who have become the spokesmen of their communities, but the majority are middle-aged men who have years of experience behind them, and are yet strong for the battle. In garb there is also great variety, the black frock coat, the business suit, the belted blouse, and the clerical robe are all to be seen. The smooth face seems to be at a discount in Russia; one would suppose, so plentiful are whiskers, that the barbers were on a strike. There are many heavy heads of hair, too, sometimes the locks falling to the shoulders, sometimes cut square about the ears.

The lobby is a better place than the gallery to study features; sitting on one of the visitors' seats in this commodious hall we watched the members passing to and fro and were introduced to a number of them by the American newspaper men who are reporting the proceedings for the press of our country. There are also a number of Americans here studying the Russian situation as a preparation for university work at home, a son of the late Dr. Harper of Chicago being one of these. I shall send with this article a number of photographs of the more prominent members, but I regret that I cannot bring before my readers some of the faces that we observed in the lobby, faces which seemed to present an epitome of Russian history—strong, firm, unyielding faces which plainly tell of the stern resolve that lies behind the peasant movement. They may protest, like Mark Antony, that they have neither "wit nor words nor worth, action, nor utterance nor the power of speech to stir men's blood," but they can "put a tongue in every wound" of their countrymen that will almost "move the stones to rise and mutiny."

This is the first duma, and it has not proceeded far enough to fully develop the permanent leaders, but, if I may use the simile, as the basket of pebbles is shaken by debate, the large ones are gradually rising to the top. The president of the duma is Prof. Serge Murmetseff, of Moscow, whose learning and judicial temperament combined to make him the choice of the several parties, no one of which can claim a majority. The constitutional democrats have the largest membership and are the best organized. They also have the advantage of occupying the middle ground between the radicals and the conservatives. Having about one hundred and fifty members on their rolls and some thirty more acting with them, they can count upon enough votes from the more conservative elements to defeat the extreme radicals, and they can rely upon enough radical votes to carry out their program. The floor leader of this party is Vladimir D. Nabokoff, of St. Petersburg, a member of a prominent family and himself until recently an instructor in the national law school. He is about thirty-eight years of age, intelligent and alert, and has the confidence of his party. The orator of the constitutional democrats is Theodore I. Rodicheff, a scholarly looking man of fifty. He is polished in manner and persuasive in speech. One of the most influential of the constitutional democrats is Mr. Maxim Winawer, a Jewish lawyer of the capital. He is sometimes described as the "brains" of the party and is credited with drafting the duma's reply to the address from the throne. He is one of the ablest civil lawyers in the empire and his election from St. Petersburg, where there are but three thousand Jewish voters, out of a total vote of sixty thousand, and his elevation to the vice-presidency of the national organization of his party, would seem to answer the charge that there is widespread hostility to the Jews among the people.

Nabokoff, Rodicheff and Winawer are members of the duma and are, therefore, prominently before the public at this time, but in popularity they have a rival in the person of Paul I. Miliukoff, editor of the "Retch." (The government would probably put a "W" before the "R" and give the word its English meaning, but in Russian the word Retch means speech.) Mr. Miliukoff, it will be remembered, was one of the candidates of his party in St. Petersburg, but the government compelled the substitution of another name because he was awaiting trial for an alleged violation of the press laws. He was acquitted soon afterward and is one of the moving spirits in the present parliamentary struggle. He speaks excellent English and has lectured in the United States. No one need despair of reform in Russia while such a man as Miliukoff devotes his great ability to journalism.

Next to the constitutional democrats, the members of the "group of toil" form the largest party. There are about a hundred of these, and Alexis G. Aladin is their leader. He is even younger than Nabokoff, but has already shown himself to be a man of force and originality.

Count Heyden is the leader of the conservative element, if there is a conservative element in the duma. Perhaps it would be more accurate to describe him as the spokesman for the least radical group, for all the members of the duma are reformers, differing only as to the extent of the changes and the speed with which they shall be made. He was once considered radical, but he has not moved as rapidly as public sentiment. Count Heyden bears quite a resemblance to Uncle Sam as he is pictured in the newspapers. I have spoken somewhat at length of the leaders in order to show that while the grievances of the peasants and laborers are at the bottom of the movement, all classes are enlisted in the effort to establish constitutional government.

The afternoon sessions are generally lively, for it is at this time that the ministers make their reports, offer their measures and answer the questions propounded by the members. The session which we attended was no exception to the rule. The house was full, the galleries crowded and the newspapers fully represented. There were more than forty Russian writers in their corner and not less than fifty of the foreign press in theirs. When the representative of the war department, replying to a question concerning some recent military executions, declared that the minister of war was powerless to overrule the generals, there were shouts of "Murderer!" "Assassin!" "Dog!" and other equally uncomplimentary epithets.

One of the demands made by the duma is for the abolition of the death penalty. This might seem a very radical measure to us, but the conditions are quite different in Russia. Here there is no assurance of an impartial trial, and torture is resorted to to force an admission of guilt. Only recently three persons were found to be innocent after they had been tortured and put to death. The members of the duma feel that the only security to the people is in the entire abolition of the death penalty, for while those who are falsely accused still live, there is a chance to rescue them. In this respect exile, hateful as it is, has its advantages; I met a member of the duma who was returned from exile by the government upon the demand of the duma. In the torturing of prisoners for the purpose of extorting a confession Russia is even behind China, bad as China is, for in the latter nation it has been abolished, except where one is charged with murder, and is only permitted then after the guilt of the accused has been established by other evidence.

There are a number of important measures which are very little discussed in the duma because they are certain to receive the approval of the government; one of these provides for universal education. The program of the duma also includes legislation guaranteeing freedom of speech, freedom of the press, protection for the Jews and local self-government for the Polish portion of Russia. As the women have taken an active part in the agitation for constitutional reform, all of the parties are committed to woman's suffrage.

Just now the land question is paramount. About one-third of the entire acreage of land in the empire is in the hands of the czar, the government and the nobility, and the peasants demand that it shall be turned over to them. At this time they are willing to have compensation made to the owners, but the more they think about it and the more vehement their demand becomes, the less they are likely to consider compensation. There is no doubt that there are enough cases of injustice and contemptuous indifference to their needs to arouse resentment among the peasants, if we take human nature as we find it. They tell of instances where whole villages have been compelled to pay toll, generation after generation, for the privilege of crossing some nobleman's land to reach the land farmed in common by the people of the village. Powerless to condemn land for roads, as it can be done in other countries, they have grown more embittered year by year until some of them feel that patience has ceased to be a virtue. It is now intimated that the government will offer a partial distribution of land as a compromise.

The opponents of expropriation seek shelter behind the excuse that the peasants attack the principle of private ownership. While it is true that there are socialists in the duma who prefer communal holdings to private ownership, the object of the peasants is not to dispossess small holders, but simply to give the peasants access to the large estates. The situation resembles, in some respects, the situation in Ireland, except that in Russia the land is to be turned over to the communities. I made some inquiry regarding the question of joint ownership and learned from one of the best informed men in Russia that there is a growing sentiment in favor of individual ownership. Ownership in common does not give to each individual that stimulus to improve his land, which is the important element in individual ownership. In riding through a country one can distinguish with considerable accuracy between the farms cultivated by their owners and those cultivated by tenants, because the tenants, as a rule, are unwilling to make permanent improvements. One Russian economist estimates the income from the owned lands of Russia at thirty per cent above the income of the same area of communal lands. He attributes it to the ability of the land owners to supply themselves with proper tools and to furnish or borrow at low rates the money needed for cultivation, but it is possible that this difference may be in part due to the fact that ownership makes the incentive to labor greater, and offers a richer reward to superior effort.[10]

There is an upper house, or council of empire as it is called, which shares the legislative power with the duma, but it does not receive much attention because its composition is such that it cannot reflect public sentiment, and cannot oppose the will of the people except at the risk of its existence. Half of the members of this council are appointed by the emperor and the other half elected by different interests. The nobility elect some, the universities some and the zemstows some.

The duma does not recognize the council of empire as a co-ordinate branch of the government and will not be slow to express itself in favor of a radical change in the method of selecting the members of this upper house, or even its abolition, if it stands in the way of measures which have a large majority in the duma.

What will be the outcome in Russia? A Russian would hardly venture a prediction, and for an outsider, prophecy is even more hazardous. The situation could scarcely be more complicated. Generations of misrule have brought an accumulation of questions, all pressing for solution. The duma wants a great many things done and wants them done at once, while the government, if it remains under the influences of the bureaucracy, will give as little as possible. So far, the government has been unfortunate in that it has delayed making concessions until still greater concessions were demanded. The program of the present ministry has been so completely repudiated that the emperor may find it easier to appoint a new ministry than to humiliate the present one by compelling it to propose what it has heretofore refused. If a new ministry is formed and the duma is consulted about its personnel, Ivan Petrunkevich will probably be the premier. He is a member of the duma and the head of the parliamentary organization of the constitutional democrats. He has already proposed a constitution to Nicholas II. If the duma is disregarded and a ministry formed from the emperor's present advisers, it will at least be more liberal than the one now in office.

The duma is a permanent institution; it could not be abolished by imperial decree without endangering the crown itself, and it cannot be dissolved or prorogued with safety.[11] The government must, therefore, treat with the duma and agree with such compromises as may be necessary to maintain peace between the executive and the people. The officials, too, are learning from the duma something about the science of government. When there was no one to speak for the people, the czar could claim to voice their sentiments. He can claim this no longer. When the people were denied a hearing, the officials could deny that the people desired reforms, but the officials cannot put their unsupported opinions against a unanimous duma. The elections have shown how insignificant a support the government has among its subjects, and these figures contain a warning, which even the bureaucracy cannot entirely disregard. Does the government rely upon the army? The soldiers are drawn from the people and serve for three years, a half million raw recruits being enlisted each year. Is it possible that they can be different in sentiment from their fathers and brothers? In three years the Russian army will be made up of men in hearty accord with those who speak through the duma. Without an army to rely upon, what answer can the bureaucracy make to the legislature?

The czar has already suffered much at the hands of his advisers; he is no longer the idol he was, and reverence for the Church has abated somewhat, as reverence for him, its temporal head, has decreased. What can he do? There is but one course open to him. He asked the people what they wanted and they have told him. As he cannot doubt that they have told him the truth, he must either accept their answer or confess that he does not intend to consider their wishes. If he would appoint a new ministry, propose a measure guaranteeing freedom of speech and freedom of the press, recommend an agricultural bank to protect the peasants from the small money lenders, recall the exiles, release political prisoners and invite the leaders of the duma to confer with the ministry in regard to the land question, he would be restored to the affection of his subjects and have no reason to fear bomb-throwers or hostile criticism. He would find a hundred and thirty millions of loyal subjects a much stronger bodyguard than a few hired soldiers. His position is a difficult one because his environment is unfriendly to the masses, but having burned the bridges behind him, he must go forward.

Russia is not decaying. She has extent of territory, abundant natural resources and an immense population. To be sure, a majority of her people were serfs until a generation ago, but there is no race distinction between the nobility and the peasant, and with education the extremes of society are being drawn closer together. That Russia has a great future is not open to doubt. What experiences she may pass through before she emerges a free, self-governing and prosperous nation no one is wise enough to foresee, but the people who have sacrificed as much for liberty as have the Russian patriots have in them the material of which mighty nations are made. The duma is ready to do its part; will the government rise to the occasion? Time alone can tell.

Note—Since this article was written the Duma has been dissolved, and a second Duma is now in session.

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The discussion of the duma occupied so much space that I was compelled to omit from that article all mention of Russia in general, and to St. Petersburg in particular; I shall therefore begin this article with a brief reference to the Moscovite empire. Two and a half years ago, when I saw Russia for the first time, I entered by the way of Warsaw and went to St. Petersburg from Moscow. While considerable territory was covered, the winter's snows made the whole country look barren and uninviting. This time our course lay through the Baltic provinces, and as farming was at its height, the country presented a much fairer picture. The cities and villages through which we passed were busy with life and each had its church, for the Russians are a church-going people.

St. Petersburg is a fascinating city. The Church of St. Isaacs, with its great granite monoliths on the outside, its pillars within covered with malachite and lapsus lazuli, and its immense bronze doors, is among the world's most imposing places of worship; the equestrian statue of Peter the Great is famous, and the art gallery is of rare merit. Russia's bronzes are most excellent, and her stores exhibit a large assortment of furs.

In St. Petersburg I found myself, as on my former visit, admiring the horses, they being, upon the whole, the best that I have seen since leaving America. Possibly the fact that so many stallions are driven singly and in pairs may account, in part, for the handsome and stylish animals seen upon the streets, but certain it is that the Russian horse is a splendid representative of his breed. There is a large park, called the Point, near the city, and in the evening this park and the approaches to it are thronged with carriages and droskies. As the sun does not set there at this season of the year until between nine and ten and is followed by a long twilight, the drives are gay with life until midnight. We did not reach our hotel until eleven o'clock, although we were among the first to leave the park.

Speaking of horses, reminds me that the Russian coachman has an individuality all his own. His headgear is peculiar, being a squatty beaver with a spool-shaped crown, but one soon forgets the hat in contemplation of the form. The skirt of the coachman's coat is very full and pleated, and the more stylish the equipage, the broader is the driver. Beginning at the shoulders, his padding gradually increases until about the hips he is as broad as the box upon which he sits. This padding is carried to such an extreme that the coachman sometimes has to be lifted upon the box, and it is needless to say that he is practically helpless, as well as useless, in case of an accident. It may be that this style of dress is designed for a wind break for those who are seated behind the wearer—this was one of the explanations given—or it may be that it, like some other fashions in wearing apparel, has no foundation in reason.

I found to my disappointment that Tolstoy is not contributing materially to the political revolution that is taking place in Russia. Being revered throughout the land not only because of his philosophy, but also because of his fearless arraignment of the despotism that has afflicted Russia, he might be a powerful factor in giving direction to the popular movement, but believing that individual regeneration furnishes the only complete emancipation from all forms of evil, he takes but little interest in what he regards as the smaller and less important remedies proposed by the duma. It remains to be seen whether it is wiser to secure that which is now within reach, and then press forward for other advantages, or to reject piecemeal reforms in the hope of ultimately gaining larger ones. Probably the pioneer in thought and the practical reformer will never be able to fully agree upon this point.

The boat ride from St. Petersburg to Stockholm is one of unsurpassed beauty. It requires about thirty hours to make the trip, and of that time but two hours are spent in the open sea, the remainder of the route being between islands that fill the Baltic and the Gulf of Finland as the stars stud the sky. Just out of St. Petersburg is Russia's most important naval station, where we saw a number of warships and were informed that the crew of one of them had recently refused to comply with a sailing order, answering that it was waiting to see what the duma would do.

Until about a hundred years ago Finland was a part of the Baltic Empire, of which Sweden was the head, and of the three million inhabitants of Finland, something like twenty per cent are of Swedish descent. As might be expected, the Swedish element was not only the official element, enjoying to a large extent the titles of nobility, but it is still the wealthier and more influential portion. The Finns proper are not Laplanders, as their northern position would suggest, neither are they in race closely akin to the Slavic or Scandinavian population. As mentioned in the article on Hungary, they came from western Asia and are quite distinct in race characteristics from their present neighbors. They acquired from their Swedish conquerors a fondness for the public school, and the percentage of illiteracy is much less in Finland than in other parts of Russia, under whose dominion they unwillingly came in 1808.

Our boat stopped at Helsingfors for a few hours, and we had an opportunity to visit the principal points of interest in the capital of Finland. It is a substantial and prosperous looking city with large school houses, attractive public buildings and commodious churches. We passed several small parks where children were playing and where numerous comfortable seats beckoned the weary to rest beneath the shade. I confess to a partiality for the small city park; it is much better to have these breathing spaces so scattered about through densely populated sections that the children, as well as the adults, can find in them a daily refuge than to have the entire park fund lavished upon suburban parks, which can only be visited occasionally. It is a pity that space is not more often reserved for these parks in the laying out of towns, for the ground not only becomes more valuable in proportion as these small parks are the more needed, but the opening of them in the heart of a city brings a large unearned increment to those who own land adjacent to them.

We could not help noticing the contrast between the market of Helsingfors and those which we visited in Asia. At the former neatly dressed peasants, men and women, exposed for sale from the end of their carts a bountiful supply of vegetables, meats, butter, eggs and cheese. The eggs were stamped with the name of the owner and the date of laying, the butter was packed in wooden buckets of various sizes, and the cheese was of many varieties. Some of the carts were filled with stacks of black bread baked in large flat cakes. The radishes presented a temptation that I was not able to withstand; the fondness for them, restrained during the months of travel through the Orient, overcame me, and at the risk of being thought extravagant, I purchased five dozen at a gross outlay of about five cents and lived high until they were all gone.

The Finns are rejoicing over the autonomy recently secured, and they have signalized their partial independence by creating a single parliamentary body whose representatives are elected by the entire population, male and female, above the age of twenty-four. No one can understand the persistency with which the Finns have struggled for constitutional government without recalling that, as a part of Sweden, their country long enjoyed the right to representation in the nation's councils. The people have always resented Russian methods, and only a few years ago the governor general sent from St. Petersburg was assassinated by a young Finn who, having thus given expression to his nation's hatred of despotism, immediately took his own life. The death of the governor was followed by the suspension of such few privileges as the people had been enjoying, but when last year the whole of Russia seemed about to rise in rebellion, the czar announced his willingness to grant all that was asked, and now one can travel through Finland without being harassed by soldiers or bothered about passports.

If Constantinople can claim to be the natural capital of the eastern hemisphere, Stockholm can with equal justice claim to be its natural summer resort. It is situated at a point where a chain of lakes pours its flood into the Baltic, so that the citizens of Sweden's capital have their choice between the fresh water and the salt. As the lakes and the sea are filled with innumerable islands, each family can have one for itself. Summer homes are probably more numerous near Stockholm, in proportion to the population, than anywhere else, because during the winter months the people live in flats. One is immediately struck with the compactness of the city and with the absence of single dwellings surrounded by yards. Owing to the severe cold and the long, dark days of winter, the people huddle together in great blocks and thus economize fuel, and they are at the same time close to their work. As soon as spring opens there is a general movement toward the islands, and as we approached Stockholm from the Baltic and left it through the lakes, we saw a great many summer cottages and watched the boats carrying their cargoes of passengers to and fro.

Sweden's lakes are so numerous and so large that about eight per cent of her entire area is given up to these internal waterways, and they probably account for the fact that her people had a large domestic commerce before the era of railroads. These lakes are so situated that by connecting them by canals water transit has been secured between Stockholm on the east coast and Gothenburg on the west. The boat trip through these lakes and canals is one of the most pleasant to be found in Europe.

The Swedes who have come to the United States are such excellent farmers that I was surprised to find but twelve per cent of the area of Sweden devoted to agriculture and fifty-one per cent described as woodland. Only fifty-five per cent of the population is now engaged in farming, the proportion having fallen from seventy-two per cent since 1870, while the proportion engaged in other industries has risen from fifteen to twenty-seven per cent.

Lumbering, fishing and shipping each gives employment to a large number of men, and iron mining, long a leading industry, is still important, although, owing to the development of mines elsewhere, Sweden now furnishes but one per cent of the entire output of ore as against ten per cent in the eighteenth century. The fact that she had such an abundant supply of the raw material early gave her a conspicuous place in iron manufactures, and the familiarity with this metal may be due to the fact that Sweden was quick to take advantage of the railroad, the telegraph and the telephone. In electrical appliances she now claims a second place among the nations. A large use has also been made of the water power with which the country abounds, notably at Norrkoping, where an industrial exposition is now in progress.

We spent a day at this exposition for the purpose of gathering information in regard to industrial Sweden. While the agricultural display was not ready, the exhibit of the products of the factory was exceedingly interesting. The articles shown included metal work of all kinds and varieties, from heavy machinery to parlor ornaments. In one section canned fruit was displayed, in another great rolls of linoleum and oilcloth, and in still another textile fabrics. The cloth was especially worthy of notice, being of superior quality and of every color. There was also a complete assortment of dairy implements and farm tools. So skillful is the Swedish artisan that the International Harvester Company has recently established a branch factory at Norrkoping, and with the aid of American foremen is preparing to manufacture reapers and mowers there, not only for Sweden but for northern Europe.

In addition to the machine-made exhibits, there were specimens of the handwork of peasants and students. These included many varieties of needlework, wood carving, and decoration on leather and bark. Peasant girls in native costume presided over these displays and gave the visitor a glimpse of the picturesque garb now fast disappearing before the prosaic dress of the cities. At Skansen, in the suburbs of Stockholm, and at a few of the enterprising stores, this quaint costume may still be seen, but it is not generally worn now even in the country.

There is a gallery at Norrkoping exposition where one may see a collection of Swedish and Danish art, the pictures not only portraying the familiar features and flaxen hair of the north, but recalling the long nights and the winter scenes of that latitude.

Sweden was a pioneer in the matter of universal education and has at Upsala a state university founded in 1477—fifteen years before Columbus sailed for America. She has also had a college of medicine for more than a hundred years, and her sons have taken high rank in all the departments of science. Her grammar schools run back to the time of Gustavus Adolphus, and her common school system is almost as old. She has given to the world among other things the Sloyd system of teaching, which combines manual training with mental instruction. Sweden has shown by her prominence in literature, science, art and music that the higher altitudes do not chill the imagination or repress genius, and yet, the country is even more noted for the high average of intelligence among the people than for the extraordinary accomplishments of a few.

The Swedish language contains so many words that resemble the English that the Swedish newspaper looks much more familiar than the Greek or the Russian, but it is not always safe to rely upon the similarity in spelling. For instance, "rum" means room, and when it appears in a window or on a door, it is only an innocent announcement that travelers can find accommodation within. The word "bad" means bath, and "bad rum," therefore, is a familiar sign in hotels.

Sweden has her political problems like all the other nations, and just now her people are absorbed in the question of extending the suffrage. The upper house is an aristocratic body composed of representatives of the wealthier classes. In electing members to this body a rich man's vote counts for more than a poor man's vote, it being possible for the richest person to have about ten times as many votes as the poorest. As might be expected, the upper house is conservative and stands in the way of some of the reforms proposed by the more popular branch. The last ministry was a liberal one, but resigned when the upper house defeated the measure for the extension of the suffrage. The new ministry has at its head Mr. Lindmann, a business man who represents the commercial and conservative elements, and his party is willing to accept an extension of the franchise, provided it is coupled with minority representation, the aim being to increase the conservative strength in the lower house in order to protect the upper house from attack. The conservatives fear—and not without reason—that an overwhelming liberal majority in the popular branch would soon endanger the aristocratic character, if not the very existence of the upper house. The situation is interesting in that it indicates the growth of radicalism in the country. The conservatives recognize this and are prepared to make concessions; they hope to retard the progress of the movement but realize that they cannot defeat it entirely.

Industrial questions are receiving consideration in Sweden; laws concerning child labor have been enacted, accident insurance has been provided, and an old age pension is being discussed. Attention is also being given to the housing problem in the cities, to farm allotments and to the establishment of labor bureaus and boards of arbitration. The Gothenburg license system is in operation in Sweden, under which the sale of liquor, where the sale is not entirely prohibited, is in the hands of semi-official corporations. Whether this system is responsible for it or not may be open to question, but statistics show that there has been a large decrease in the sale of beverages containing a high percentage of alcohol.

By the courtesy of the American minister, Colonel Graves, I had an opportunity to pay my respects to King Oscar II. I was glad to do so for two reasons: First, because so many of his former subjects have become American citizens; and, second, because of the honorable part which he played in the recent crisis which resulted in the separation of Sweden and Norway. He is of powerful frame, and though seventy-seven years old, would pass for a much younger man. He has a kindly face and rides about the city without a guard. A more ambitious monarch would have met Norway's demand with armed resistance, but he, recognizing that the holding of Norway against the will of the people would involve his country in perpetual strife, advocated a peaceful separation, provided the people of Norway asked for it in unmistakable terms.

For thirty years he had been the sovereign of both, and in his old age he could not bear to see the two countries engaged in a bloody conflict. He is just now criticised by some who did not become sanguinary until all prospect of war was past, but he has the consolation of knowing that his critics are not only alive but have no dead relatives to mourn. Had he plunged his country into war, his critics could remind him of vacant chairs at the fireside.

King Oscar has, in a most practical way, proved himself to be a promoter of peace and as such deserves the prize provided by that great Swedish chemist, Alfred Nobel. By giving conspicuous approval to his course, the trustees of the Nobel fund may be able to encourage other sovereigns to imitate him.

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Norway was so full of attractions at the time of our visit that I am at a loss to know in what order to treat of them. As those things which are permanent will interest a larger number than the transient ceremonies attending the crowning of a new king, I shall give the preference to the most distinguishing feature of Norway, that which has been interwoven with her name, viz., the midnight sun. Owing to its accessibility and to the fact that its climate is moderated by the influence of the Gulf stream, the coast of upper Norway furnishes the best opportunity which Europeans have to mount the Arctic merry-go-round and view the sun through the whole nightless day. It is a weird experience, this passing from day to day without intervening darkness, and one returns from it somewhat exhausted, for the light tempts him to encroach upon the hours of sleep.

The North Cape, the northernmost point of the continent of Europe, is usually the destination of the tourist, but it is not necessary to go so far to see all that there is worth seeing. There are several towns above the Arctic circle where for several weeks the sun never sinks to the horizon. At Bodo, which is but little more than a day's ride by boat from Trondhjem, the sun is visible at midnight from May 30 to July 11. At Hammerfest, which is the terminus of some of the steamboat lines and which claims to be the northernmost town in the world, the sun does not set between May 13 and July 28, while at Tromso, not quite so far north as Hammerfest, the inhabitants have but ten days less of the midnight sun.

We stopped at Svolvaer, one of the chief fishing stations of the Lofoden Islands, nearly two hundred miles north of the Arctic circle. We arrived about seven in the evening, and would have seen the sun the previous night but for a bank of clouds behind which it passed at about 11:30. Svolvaer nestles at the foot of some snow-crowned peaks which shut out the northern horizon, and it is necessary to go out into the open sea or to climb a mountain to get an uninterrupted view. With our usual good luck we found an English-speaking Norwegian who had studied in the United States, and with him to direct us, we spent a memorable night among the islands.

The channel to the north, known as Raftsund, is one of the most picturesque along the entire coast, and the Troldfjord which leads from it through a rockbound gorge to the outlet of a famous mountain lake, is not surpassed in rugged grandeur. Troldfjord deserves to be described by a poet, for prose can not do it justice. If any of my readers have ever passed through the Royal Gorge in southern Colorado, they may understand me when I say that Troldfjord is a Royal Gorge with its walls widened to a quarter of a mile and lengthened to a mile, and the space between them filled with a transparent sea, whose surface perfectly mirrors every rock and shrub. At the upper end of the fjord is a majestic cascade, the dashing, splashing, foaming outlet of the lake two hundred feet above. Our launch ceased its throbbing and sat swanlike on the fathomless water, while we feasted our eyes upon a picture so beautiful that darkness hesitates to draw a curtain over its charms.

The mountain, Digermulkollen, selected as an observation point, is on the Raftsund and not far from the Troldfjord. I can not give its height, but when I guessed at it before the ascent, I put it at five or six hundred feet; after ascending it I am satisfied that it is a thousand. We timed our trip so as to reach the top at midnight, slaking our thirst from the snowbanks along the trail, and it was the fault of the clouds that we did not see the orb of day—at this season and in this latitude he is orb of the night as well—as he reached the lowest point; but they were kind to us a little later, for through a rift in them we saw the face of old Sol just long enough to be sure that he, like ourselves, was up for all night. Even though the clouds concealed the sun at the witching hour of midnight, the light was the light of day, and I had no difficulty in reading a paper (which truth, as well as loyalty to my own publication, compels me to say was The Commoner). The fact that we almost missed seeing the sun at all leads me to remark that many make the entire trip without catching a glimpse of it. We were informed that an excursion steamer had gone to the North Cape and back in mist and rain just a few days before. It had not occurred to us in planning our visit to Norway that cloudy weather had to be taken into consideration, but we found that clear nights are the exception rather than the rule, especially during the latter part of the season.

Svolvaer is a quiet place in summer, but during January, February and March its little harbor is full of fishing smacks, for thirty thousand men fish in the waters of the Lofoden Islands. Cod is the principal fish taken and codliver oil is one of the chief products of the islands. Immense quantities of dried fish are shipped to southern Europe, while the fresh and salted fish find a market in the British Isles and Germany.

If one desires to see merely fjords, glaciers, lakes and mountain streams, the southern part of Norway offers a sufficient variety of each. Bergen, the principal city on the west coast, the second city in the country and a former member of the Hanseatic League, is the seaport of this northern Switzerland. With the Sogne Fjord on the north, Hardanger Fjord on the south and west and a chain of lakes almost connecting the two, one can see every variety of scenery in a three days' trip around Bergen. As we had but two days to spend there, we had to miss the northern fjord, but Hardanger, the twenty-one mile ride across the mountains and the railroad from Voss back to Bergen, furnished such a wealth of scenery that another day could hardly have added much to our enjoyment.

Taking a boat at Bergen, we devoted eleven hours to winding about through Hardanger Fjord, and every moment presented some new attraction. These fjords seem to have been formed by a convulsion that opened great cracks in the mountains which line the coast of Norway. In some places the shores are precipitous cliffs, reaching from the water upwards for hundreds of feet, but for most of the way the banks slope back and are covered with stunted pines and undergrowth. Scattered all along the way are innumerable cascades and waterfalls, varying in width from a few inches to many feet. At one place we counted eleven of these in sight at one time, and we were never out of hearing of their music. Some of them are harnessed to little sawmills. At one point the boat halted within a few hundred yards of a great glacier, which is crawling down a mountain gorge, and from whose mouth, as from a fountain, gushes a ceaseless stream. For ages this mass of ice has been slowly moving down from the mountains, and every day tons upon tons melt and disappear, but its losses at its base are made good at its top, and it lives on like the human race, ever dying and yet ever young.

Disembarking at Eide we took a four-hours carriage ride, following a mountain stream to its source, crossing the range at an elevation of a thousand feet and descending along another stream to the lake upon which the village of Voss is situated. From this point a scenic railroad, which passes through fifty-two tunnels in seventy miles, took us back to Bergen. As might be gathered from what has already been said, Norway does not impress the tourist as a farmer's paradise, although agriculture is first among her industries. The farms, as seen from the routes of travel, seem very diminutive and are usually triangular in form and look like wedges inserted in the cracks of the mountains. Occasionally a valley is broad enough to invite the cultivation of a level piece of land and the invitation was long ago accepted. Potatoes grow well in Norway and are of excellent flavor. On the coast boats they furnished the staple, and sometimes almost the only, vegetable, although the bill of fare often included seven different kinds of fish, nearly as many varieties of cold meat, half as many brands of cheese, besides white, brown and black bread. Rye, barley and wheat are grown in the southern districts and grass everywhere. Owing to the frequent showers and the long days of summer, grass grows very rapidly, but as it is difficult to cure it, the people have adopted a plan which looks peculiar to foreigners. They build frames that look like sections of a fence and the green hay is hung upon the boards or wire as the case may be. The lower rows are protected from the rain by the upper one, and the air has access to all of it.

About three hours' drive from Bergen there is a little wooded island on which the great Norwegian violinist, Ole Bull, built a summer home where he was wont to retire at the conclusion of his tours and where at last he died. He was not only a great admirer of American institutions and of the American people in general, but he married an American, and his daughter returns to Norway every year to celebrate May 17, Norway's independence day, at her father's home and with her father's countrymen. The daughter is one of the many connecting links between the two countries, and by her invitation, extended through our consul, Mr. Cunningham, we had the privilege of visiting this historic spot. We were glad to do so, because Ole Bull was not only one of the great musicians of the last century, but he was one of the greatest democrats that Norway has produced—a democrat not in a partisan sense, but in that broader sense in which it describes one who believes in the people, trusts them and labors for their welfare.

There are many public men in Norway worthy of mention, but space forbids an enumeration of them. There is, however, a relic of great historic interest to which I must devote a line. It is the Viking Ship, a thousand years old, now on exhibition at Christiania. It was dug up twenty-five years ago and is fairly well preserved. It gives one an idea of the ships used by those early seamen of the north whose daring exploits make fiction seem tame.

It so happened that we arrived in Norway just in time to attend the coronation of King Haakon VII., and we had our first opportunity to see royalty on parade. The new king is a son of the king of Denmark, and his wife, Queen Maud, is daughter of the king of England. When, last year, Norway withdrew from her union with Sweden, the crown was offered to a son of King Oscar, but the offer was refused, and it is probably not too much to say that the Norwegians expected it to be refused, but they wanted to show that separation was not due to antagonism to the reigning house. It was then tendered to the son of King Frederick and accepted. I shall speak later of the circumstances which explain this selection; it is sufficient at present to say that the new king is a sober, earnest, sensible looking young man of about thirty-five and seems to have made a very favorable impression upon the Norwegian people. By the courtesy of Minister Graves, who represents our country at Stockholm, and who, our minister to Norway not having received his appointment in time, was our nation's special ambassador to attend the coronation, we received invitations to the coronation ceremonies and were presented at court. While the newspaper reports of the coronation may rob what I am about to say of some of its freshness as news, I shall venture to describe what we saw, begging the reader's indulgence if I betray a lack of familiarity with the technical phrases employed on such occasions.

The coronation took place at Trondhjem, the former capital, a city situated on one of the numerous fjords that indent the western coast. The building selected for the occasion was the Gothic cathedral, the largest in Scandinavia, which was commenced in the eleventh, and completed in the fourteenth century. It is a historic building and belonged to the Bishopric of which Ireland was a part before America was discovered by Columbus. The cathedral has suffered from several fires, and a part of it was in ruins for three centuries. It is now sufficiently restored to furnish a larger audience room than is to be found in most cities of the size. Under the dome a circular space was left for the royal party while the visitors were seated, the foreign representatives nearest the center, on raised seats in the nave and transepts. A broad aisle was left, extending from the entrance through the center to the chapel at the other end. Just before time for the king to arrive, a company of white-robed Lutheran priests marched from the chapel to the door, and a stalwart body of men they were. They marched back at the head of the procession, the king following, his crimson, ermine-lined robe trailing many feet behind—or it would have trailed but for the fact that it was carried by four attendants. The king was accompanied by several officers and followed by the standard bearer holding aloft the royal banner. Then came the queen wearing a robe similar to the king's, but it only required three attendants to keep its folds from the floor. She was attended by three maids of honor. The king and queen were escorted to thrones on opposite sides of the aisle, and the representatives of royal families occupied seats next to them. The Prince of Wales sat nearest the queen, next to him Prince Henry of Germany, and the American ambassador next. Near the king sat Denmark's representative, then Russia's, and next to him the representative from France. There was gold braid galore; some of the foreign representatives had enough on their clothes to put the Sultan of Sulu to shame. I never before saw so much gold, and I have been wondering since whether there may not be a new yellow peril of which our financiers have little dreamed. Our representatives used less of this ornamentation (they all wore military uniforms) than those of any other country, and the question arises, what is going to become of the honest dollar if, with the spread of the ideas of a republic, the amount of gold braid is decreased and a vast quantity of gold is poured through the mints into the volume of the world's currency? It might so enlarge the volume of money as to make the money changers clamor for the demonetization of gold, and, then the silverites would be called gold bugs for insisting upon the free and unlimited coinage of gold.

After some excellent music, instrumental and vocal, a member of the clergy ascended a pulpit not far from the king and queen and delivered an earnest address. He was a typical Norwegian, powerful of frame and strong of face—such as we might imagine one of the Viking chiefs to have been. Then there was more music, and it may interest the readers to know that all the music was prepared for the occasion, the words of the cantata being by the pastor of the church, and the hymns being written in the language of the peasants. Finally the king arose, proceeded down the aisle to the chapel and kneeling, received from the bishop the insignia of office, the crown being placed upon his head, a gold chain about his neck, a sceptre in one hand and a golden globe in the other. As soon as he returned to the throne, the queen advanced to the chapel and was likewise invested, and then the premier, Mr. Michelson, proposed a salute to the king and queen. The people responded with earnestness and the exercises were concluded.

I do not expect to witness another coronation, and it will be some satisfaction to remember that the first and only one attended was that of a king whom the people of their own accord selected; for if there is anything more democratic than a republican form of government, it is the fundamental principle that the people have a right to have whatever form of government they desire. Jefferson emphasized this doctrine when the people of France called Napoleon to the throne, and it has Bible sanction as well, for when the children of Israel still demanded a king, even after Samuel explained what a king would do, he was told to let them have their way.

The next day we put on our best clothes and joined the line that passed before the king and queen. It was not a very satisfying experience, but it is worth something to know how such things are done, and I may add, the more an American sees of it, the more he appreciates the simplicity of public life in his own country.

Norway, in spite of the choosing of a king, is the most democratic country in northern Europe. She has no nobility, confers no titles and had to go outside of her own realm to find one of royal birth. She had her kings and princes in the early days, but one Norwegian statesman explained to us that when they lost their privileges they emigrated to America and went to farming. The choice of a Dane was not strange, if a king was to be chosen from without, for Norway was united with Denmark for more than three centuries, and there has always been a friendly feeling between the two countries. It was expedient, too, under the circumstances, to offer the crown to the son of the Danish king, for this brought Norway's throne into kinship with the thrones of England and Russia, as well as with that of Denmark. In fact, the circumstances and the situation had a good deal to do with the four-to-one vote in favor of a monarchy. When it is remembered that Norway's paramount aim was to secure independence and that this might have been jeopardized by an attempt to establish a republic at the same time, it is really surprising that one-fifth of the people had the courage to vote to plant a republic amid surrounding monarchies. There are many in Norway who prefer a president to a king and who object to having two and a half millions of people taxed nearly two hundred thousand dollars a year to pay the salary of a kingly figurehead, but the monarchists reply that the king's position is purely ornamental and enables the government to maintain cordial relations with other European countries while the people govern themselves through the storthing. They point out that the king has much less power than our president. While this is true, they forget that a president elected by the people and holding office but four years can be trusted with more executive authority than an hereditary monarch. The storthing has absolute power, and as its members are elected by universal suffrage every three years, and as there is but the one parliamentary body, public sentiment finds prompt expression in the government. It can be truthfully said, therefore, that with the exception of the executive branch of the government, Norway is thoroughly democratic and that the influence of the king is reduced to a minimum.

Norway has a promising future. Her people are hardy and intelligent. Education has been compulsory for fifty years, and it is the country's boast that it spends more per capita on schools than any other country in Europe. Because of Norway's immense shipping interests, she demanded a separate consular service, and this was one of the causes of friction between her government and the government of Sweden. Norway has a great future, and much is to be expected of her people. Her sons and daughters, those who have emigrated to America, as well as those who have remained at home, prove to the world that it is possible for a people to acquire the refinements of civilization without losing their original strength and vigor.

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Great Britain has recently experienced one of the greatest political revolutions she has ever known. The conservative party, with Mr. Balfour, one of the ablest of modern scholars, at its head, and with Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, a powerful orator and a forceful political leader, as its most conspicuous champion, had won a sweeping victory after the Boer war, and this victory, following a long lease of power, led the Conservatives to believe themselves invincible. They assumed, as parties made confident by success often do, that they are indispensable to the nation and paid but little attention to the warnings and threats of the Liberals. One mistake after another, however, alienated the voters and the special elections two years ago began to show a falling off in the Conservative strength, and when the general election was held last fall the Liberals rolled up a majority of something like two hundred in the House of Commons. A new ministry was formed from among the ablest men of the party—a ministry of radical and progressive men seldom equaled in moral purpose and intellectual strength. My main object in visiting London at this time was to become acquainted with the personnel of the new government and learn of their program.

Before speaking of the ministers, just a word in regard to the king, who is the head of the government whether it be liberal or conservative. The government of Great Britain is always in harmony with the House of Commons, and as the ministers speak for the king, he does not emphasize the virtue of consistency, for he may be put in the attitude of advocating a thing to-day and opposing it to-morrow. He is not expected to have opinions upon public questions or, if he has them, they are always presented with the understanding that if the ministers will not adopt his views he will adopt theirs. It is much easier to be a king now than it used to be and the burdens of a monarchy have been very much lightened in the nations which, like England, recognize the omnipotence of parliament.

I was very glad to avail myself of the opportunity offered by a private audience to meet his majesty, King Edward, and to be assured of his personal interest in the promotion of peace. The king has a very genial face and makes the visitor feel at ease at once. He has a knowledge of world politics and, by his tact and good nature, has done much to promote cordial relations between his own and other countries. It may not be out of place to correct an impression that has gone abroad with regard to the style of dress required of those who are admitted to the presence of the king. Because knee breeches are worn at court functions many have understood, and I among them, that they were required on all occasions; but this is not the case. Most of the calls made upon him informally are made before lunch and the ordinary black coat is worn. The requirements are not as strict as they are in Russia, Japan and Sweden, where I was advised to wear an evening suit for a morning call.

Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, a sturdy Scotchman, is the new prime minister, and those who know him intimately feel that his selection is a vindication of the doctrine that patience and courage, when joined with merit, are invincible. He is now well advanced in years and during his entire public career has stood unflinchingly for democratic ideas. He has not been discouraged by the fact that he has often been in the minority; on the contrary, he has felt as confident in his position when he has had to maintain it amid taunts and jeers as when his speeches brought forth applause. He is not as great an orator as Gladstone, but he has a very persuasive manner and his fine sense of humor gives brilliancy to his speeches.

In outlining the policy of the Liberal party last December, he credited the victory at the polls to several causes—the tariff question, the Chinese question, the educational problem and municipal questions. He pledged his party to certain reforms and boldly advocated a reduction of military and naval expenses. He pointed out that there could be no retrenchment in taxation if the appropriations for armaments and for armies continued to increase. He has been called a "little Englander," but that did not deter him from uttering a protest against rivalry in the building of warships.

In view of his utterances in favor of arbitration and against militarism it was most appropriate that he should deliver the address of welcome at the recent session of the Interparliamentary Union, better known as the peace congress. His speech on that occasion was an epoch-making deliverance. In no uncertain tones he threw the influence of his ministry on the side of peace and opened the door for the adoption of a far-reaching proposition in favor of the submission of all questions to investigation before hostilities are commenced. He used the North Sea incident as an illustration and urged the extension of the powers of the board of inquiry. His now famous exclamation, "The Duma is dead—long live the Duma," illustrates both his moral courage and his devotion to representative government. The sentence was a part of his peace congress speech and was uttered in the presence of the duma representatives who left Russia before the proroguing of that body. It electrified the audience and has been widely commented on throughout Europe.

Few premiers have had so large a majority back of them or possessed so fully the confidence of their supporters, and the program prepared by the ministry is a most comprehensive one. It is too much to expect that the Liberal majority can be maintained on all the questions which will be under discussion, but it is evident that the new government will have a number of important reforms to its credit when it finishes its work.

The president of the House of Lords, the lord chancellor, is one of the most popular of the Liberal leaders. His name is Robert Reed and he is also a Scotchman. He is a rare combination and one of the most lovable of men. There is a striking resemblance between him and the Edinburgh statue of Walter Scott and in his heart there is the democracy of Burns. With high ideals, an eloquent tongue and a disposition which attracts men to him, he is especially fitted for public life, and it is to be regretted that upon retirement from his present position he becomes a judge, for the bench does not afford an equal opportunity with the forum for the molding of public opinion.

The foreign secretary, Sir Edward Grey, is a man who would attract attention anywhere by the strength of his face. He reminded me of the late William Evarts, of New York. He played an important part in the campaign which led up to the Liberal victory and his selection was regarded as a fitting one. His position, however, is not so difficult to fill, because Great Britain's relations with the other powers are quite amicable.

We extended our stay in London in order to hear the minister of war, Mr. Haldane, make his argument in favor of a reduction in the size and cost of the army. By the courtesy of our ambassador, Hon. Whitelaw Reid, I had an excellent seat in the gallery of the House of Commons. The reader may be interested in a brief sketch of this most ancient of parliaments and most powerful of all the factors which enter into the political life of the British Isles. The hall will seat sixty per cent of the members—an astonishing fact to an American who is accustomed to see each of his senators, congressmen and state legislators occupying the seat assigned to him for the session. The members who are present sit on cushioned benches, resembling church pews, and these benches rise one above another on each side of the hall. The Liberals sit on the right of the speaker and the front bench is reserved for the ministry. The Conservatives occupy the benches at the speaker's left, the front bench being reserved for the leaders of the opposition. On the left, but farther from the speaker, are the Irish members and the Labor members. There is a narrow gallery on each side, which is occupied by members when there is a large attendance, and there is a small gallery in the rear for visitors. The ladies' gallery is just over the speaker's desk and is so carefully screened that the occupants of the gallery can not be recognized from the floor. While no one, least of all the ladies, seems to defend this screen, it still remains. Most of the members wear their hats in the hall, but as they have no desks they can not write when a colleague is speaking, although I was told of one member who occasionally occupied his time knitting.

As parliament virtually selects the ministers and as these ministers are responsible to parliament rather than to the king, they must attend the sessions at stated times and answer questions. Any member of parliament is at liberty to submit a question in writing and the minister is obliged to give answer, provided, of course, the answer would not make an improper disclosure.

The leaders, facing each other from the opposing benches, present a very interesting picture and after listening to the discussions back and forth, one can understand why free speech has had so large an influence in the development of the political institutions of Great Britain. Here every idea is threshed out and every measure moulded into permanent form.

But to return to the minister of war. Mr. Haldane might be taken for Tom L. Johnson, Cleveland's redoubtable mayor, so much is he like him in face and figure. He is plausible in speech and so good natured that no one can be angry with him, however much he may dissent from his conclusions. For two hours he held the attention of the house and gallery—an unusual feat in London where the speeches are not so long as in America. He was frequently encouraged by cries of "Hear! Hear!" the usual applause in the House of Commons. It was noticeable that the heartiest responses were drawn forth by his expressions in favor of peace and arbitration. The reorganization scheme which he presented provides for a reduction of several thousand men and a considerable decrease in the total cost, but to make the scheme more acceptable the remaining regiments are so disposed as to give the country a larger fighting force than it now has. It was interesting to watch the opposition benches, whose able leaders vigorously attack everything that the new government proposes. Ex-War Minister Foster followed Mr. Haldane and picked flaws in his plans, but he did not receive the attention accorded the war minister.

The army question is arousing considerable interest, and the government bill is likely to have more opposition in the House of Lords than in the Commons. In fact, Lord Roberts has already attacked the bill in advance, in a speech which affords conclusive proof of the tendency of man to magnify his own calling. Nothing better illustrates the conservatism of the House of Lords than the fact that the Liberal party can claim but one-tenth of the membership of that body while it has two hundred majority in the popular branch of parliament. It must not be supposed, however, that all the bills passed by the House of Commons will be defeated in the House of Lords, for while a large majority of that house may really oppose a measure, they recognize that the very existence of their body would be jeopardized if it opposed the people on any important question. Nominally the House of Lords has an equal voice with the House of Commons, in the enactment of laws, but as a matter of fact it does not dare to exercise the power which it has.

The navy department has reduced the appropriation for large vessels, and it is certain that at the next Hague conference Great Britain will be found supporting a proposition for the limitation of armaments. Mr. Edmund Robertson, the financial secretary to the admiralty, presented the government's scheme for reduction and made a favorable impression upon the House of Commons.

The minister of education, Mr. Birrell, has been the busiest of the ministers so far. He has had charge of the educational bill which has been under discussion for several months and which, after being perfected in the committee of the whole, has been passed to a third reading by a majority of a hundred and ninety-two. As the bill deals with religion as well as education and concerns the children of the country, it arouses deep interest. In England the public school system has grown up as an addition to the church schools, or rather the public schools have supplemented the work formerly done by the private schools. As these schools increased in numbers and importance the church schools began to ask for a division of the school funds and this, as it usually does, brought into politics the question of religious instruction in the schools. As long as the private schools were supported by private contribution or endowment their religious instruction was entirely in their own hands, but when these schools began to draw their support from the public treasury the taxpayers objected to paying for instruction in the creed of any other church than their own. Four years ago the Conservatives enacted a law which gave to the Established Church of England considerable advantage over the nonconformist churches in the management of the public schools, and this led to a campaign against the law by the nonconformists. Their opposition to the conservative government contributed not a little to the Liberal victory and the bill now under consideration in parliament puts them upon an equal footing with the members of the Established Church in respect to schools and removes the tests which formerly operated against nonconformist teachers.[12]

Mr. John Morley, the secretary for India, is too well known in America to require an introduction. He stands in the front rank of English men of letters and his appointment has given new hope to the people of India. In presenting the Indian budget a few days ago he promised a reduction of taxation—especially the detestable salt tax, and said that a commission was inquiring how far the doctrine of self government could be applied to the people of India. The fact, however, that but a few hours were devoted to Indian affairs, while days and weeks are given to home problems, shows how far the interests of citizens are placed above the rights of remote subjects.

Mr. James Bryce, the secretary for Ireland, is also well known in the United States, his American Commonwealth being a standard work among us. He brings to his duties wide experience and a splendid mind and, what is more important, an excellent heart. His sympathies are broad and he has enough Irish blood in his veins to insure an equitable view of Irish problems.

The prime minister made an excellent selection when he named Mr. John Burns as president of the local government board. In this position Mr. Burns has to deal with the subjects to the study of which he has devoted his life, namely, labor and municipal affairs. Having worked his way up from the ranks he is able to give invaluable assistance in all matters pertaining to wage-earners, factory inspection and municipalization. He is a tower of strength to the Liberal ministry.

Mr. Winston Churchill, son of the late Lord Randolph Churchill, as the representative of the colonial department in the House of Commons, has to deal with the Chinese question in South Africa, one of the leading questions of the recent campaign. The new government has undertaken to abolish a system of contract labor which has been described as little short of slavery. The mine owners insist that Chinese labor is necessary for the successful working of the mines and that the conditions imposed upon the Chinese are not severe, but the laboring men of Great Britain are quite unanimous in their condemnation of the system and the Liberal government is supporting their views. Mr. Churchill is a brilliant young man and has, as his friends believe, a bright future. The fact that his mother is of American birth gives him a more than usual interest in our country and makes us watch his career with a friendly eye. His connection with the important work of framing a constitution for the Transvaal is likely to largely increase his political prominence.

I have left for the last the chancellor of the exchequer, although in order of importance his office stands near the head of the ministry. Mr. Henry Asquith, the present occupant of this position, is one of the strongest members of the Liberal party and probably its foremost debater. He was put forward to reply to Mr. Chamberlain in the tariff controversy and acquitted himself well. He is opposed to the protective tariff, whether levied for the aid of particular industries or as a part of the scheme of retaliation and his ideas are, for the present at least, in the ascendancy. If the Right Honorable Joseph Chamberlain, with the prestige given him by the Boer war and with his extraordinary ability as a public speaker, can not overthrow England's free trade policy there is little chance that any other English statesman will be able to attack it successfully in the near future.

Mr. Asquith's department has the administration of the income tax and inheritance tax. The latter has yielded more within the last year than ever before, three large estates having turned into the treasury (or will do so) some twenty millions of dollars. The income tax is not only a permanent part of the fiscal system, but a commission is considering whether a graded income tax should not be substituted for the present uniform one. The tax is now uniform, except that small incomes are exempt.

Besides the measures above referred to, the new government is preparing a home rule measure for Ireland and proposes to so change the election laws as to reduce the land holders to one vote each—at present each land holder can vote in every district in which he has land. The government is also supporting a measure which protects the English tenant farmers in their improvements and in their right to vote according to their own views, irrespective of the wishes of the landlord. The Liberal victory was a victory for progressive, democratic ideas and the new government is earnestly at work putting these ideas into the form of law.

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He who sees only the cities and villages of Great Britain misses one of the most interesting features of English life. Land tenure is so different here from tenure in the United States that the reader will pardon a sketch of the old-fashioned manor. In England, the right of primogeniture still remains and the family home descends to the oldest son. It not only descends to him, but it continues its descent through him to his son and his son's son, and is not subject to alienation. It was our good fortune to be invited to several of these homes, some of them rich in family heirlooms and of historic interest.

Our ambassador, Mr. Reid, is occupying one of the most famous estates in England; it is known as Wrest Park and is about forty miles from London. During the London season, many spend the "week's end" at their country home, and after a fortnight's experience in London we could appreciate the necessity for it, for the dinner hour is eight or eight fifteen, while receptions and balls begin at any hour from ten to twelve. The House of Commons does not convene until three o'clock in the afternoon, and generally sits until midnight. Little wonder that there is an exodus on Saturday morning.

We spent our first week's end at Wrest Park and were shown through its spacious grounds. The house itself is only about seventy years old, but the land has been in the hands of the family for several centuries. The estate consists of about seven thousand acres, most of it in cultivation, but enough is left adjoining the house for woods, parks, lawns and gardens, and these have been laid out and ornamented by landscape gardeners. There are walks lined with statuary, green stretches of velvet turf, miles of well kept hedges of holly and box and cedar, stately oaks, summer houses, tea houses, green houses and everything in the way of ornament that taste could dictate and money supply. The gardens are especially attractive. They were shut in by high walls, and against these walls fruit trees, vines and flowers are trained with artistic effect. In the hot houses peaches are ripening before their season, and huge bunches of grapes are growing purple. Cucumbers, tomatoes and many other vegetables, as well as fruits which we grow out of doors, are in England raised and ripened under glass. The strawberries are of enormous size, and the gooseberries are as large as pigeon eggs.

Within the house are spacious rooms hung with pictures of the nobility that have occupied the estate, and of members of the royal family who have visited there. The library contains several thousand books accumulated through many generations.

Not far from the house stands the manor church supported by tithes, the owner of the estate usually selecting the minister. In many places the "living," as it is called, has ceased to be of great value.

The inheritance tax is quite a heavy burden upon the owners of these estates, and many of the landholders are so impoverished that they are obliged to rent their estates in order to raise the money to meet the tax.

Mr. Moreton Frewen, who contributed many articles to the silver literature in 1896, and whose wife is of American birth, took us down to his place, Brede, which is within sight of the battlefield of Hastings. It is a fine old house with a splendid view, and the oak doors and woodwork, although five or six hundred years old, are as good as new. On the way to Brede we stopped for luncheon at Knole, another famous country place owned by the West family. The present occupant, Lord Sackville West, was once Ambassador to America. It is a historic place, and has seven courts, fifty-two stairways and three hundred and sixty-five windows. The earliest record shows that the Earl of Albemarle gave the estate to his daughter when she was married to the Earl of Pembroke. Afterward, it came into the possession of Lord Saye and Sele, and he conveyed it to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who at his death bequeathed it to the See of Canterbury. Cranmer occupied the place in the sixteenth century, and conveyed it to Henry the Eighth. (Cranmer will be remembered as one of the three bishops who were burned at the stake.) It was once in the possession of Queen Mary and afterward of Queen Elizabeth, who conveyed it to Dudley, her favorite Earl. The house is a veritable museum and art gallery, and contains hundred of pictures, many of them of kings and others prominent in English history. One of the rooms was fitted up by James First for himself when he paid a visit to Knole, and the room is kept as it was. The bed is said to have cost forty thousand dollars, and the curtains and bed cover are embroidered with gold and silver. The mattresses are of white satin, and the walls are hung with Flemish tapestry representing scenes from the history of Nebuchadnezzar.

The great hall used as a dining room is seventy-five feet long and half as wide. At one end is a raised floor where the table of the Lord of the Manor stood; below him sat the retainers and lower members of the household. A list of one hundred and twenty-six names is preserved, that being the number of those who regularly took their meals in the hall in 1624. In this hall there is a large collection of silver and pewter vessels handed down from generation to generation. The grounds and gardens, I need hardly add, are in keeping with the interior of the castle. We saw here one of the prettiest specimens of the skill of the horticulturist's art that has come under our observation. Grape vines are grown in large pots and trained upon a hoop-like trellis. When we were there the clusters of ripened grapes added to the beauty of the vines.

We spent one night at Broughton Castle as the guests of Lord and Lady Lennox. The host and hostess have often visited the United States, and are quite liberal in their political views. They are also identified with the community, encouraging artistic industry such as wood carving and the like, by which the young people may add to their income as well as develop their taste. In this connection it should be explained that the owner of an estate occupies a responsible position. While he draws rent from his tenants, he is expected to be their patron and protector, as well as their general advisor. He provides the Christmas festivities, gives presents to the children and looks after the sick.

The moral standards which he sets up have a large influence upon the religious and social life of the community, and the conscientious land owner is able to do a great deal of good.

Broughton Castle is near Banbury—the Banbury Cross, immortalized in child rhymes by the woman "who rode a white horse"—and was frequented by Cromwell and his chiefs. In fact, in one of the rooms, as tradition goes, the death warrant of Charles the First was signed. The house is of stone and the roof is covered with stone tiles—and a good roof it still is, though six hundred years old. In some of the rooms fine oak paneling had been painted over, and in other rooms handsome stone walls had been disfigured with plaster, but the present occupant is restoring these. As in many of the larger and older country places, Broughton has a little chapel of its own where the family assembled for divine service. The castle is surrounded by a shaded lawn, ornamented by hedge, evergreens, flower beds and rose-covered arbors, and around all these runs the moat, fed from neighboring streams. The memory of feudal times is preserved by the towers, drawbridge and massive gates. English history is illuminated by these ancient country seats, and much in English home life is explained that would otherwise be difficult to understand.

Warwick Castle is near Lemington and but a few miles from Broughton. It is probably the most visited of all the castles of England and is still in the family of the Earl of Warwick, the king maker. It is built upon the banks of the Avon and has a deep, dark dungeon and lofty towers and all the accessories of an ancient fortress. The great hall is filled with armor and heirlooms. The house contains a valuable collection of paintings by old masters and the furniture of the sleeping rooms is as remarkable for its design as for its antiquity. A few weeks ago a pageant, illustrating the history of the castle, was given on the banks of the stream and attended by some twenty thousand visitors.

So much for the great estates of England. They are still maintained and the system is still defended by manly English statesmen as the one best calculated to preserve the family and the present social structure. There does not seem to be as much opposition here as an American would suppose to this system, under which priority of birth carries with it so great an advantage over those born afterward. The younger children, reared to expect little except in case of the death of those older, seem to accept the situation as a matter of course, and tenants, descended from generations of tenants, seem to acquiesce without protest in a tenure which deprives them of the prospect of ownership. While one can appreciate the beauty of the manors and admit that they could not be maintained under any other system than that which gives them entire to one member of the family and prevents alienation, still an American finds his admiration for American institutions increasing while he travels, for to him the advantages that flow from individual ownership, and the division of estates at death, seem infinitely greater than any that are to be derived from the English system. A hundred farmers, stimulated by hope and secure in their holdings, contribute more than one country gentleman and ninety-nine tenants possibly can to the strength and vigor of a state.

After all, the large estates are insignificant in number when compared with the homes of the middle classes in the various cities and villages, but these are so much like the homes in America, both in appearance and in management, that it is not necessary to dwell upon them. The owners of these homes are potent in parliamentary elections, as are also the laboring men. The House of Lords represents the landed proprietors, more than one-third of all the farm lands in England being owned by members of that body.

We took occasion to visit some of the shrines of Great Britain. Of course, no one place is so rich in historic memories as Westminster Abbey, it being the burial place of most of the illustrious of England. One of the most frequented places outside of London is Stratford-on-Avon, the birthplace and burial place of Shakespeare. The house in which he was born is still standing and is well preserved, considering the years that have passed over it. From its size and arrangement it is evident that Shakespeare's father was a man of some means. The house is now public property and serves as a museum where numerous Shakespearian relics are exhibited. One oil painting of him, made when he was still a young man, would indicate that even then he enjoyed some distinction among his fellows, although succeeding generations have appreciated him vastly more than his own.

The grammar school which Shakespeare attended is still to be seen, and at the church they have the baptismal font used at his christening and the parish register in which his baptism and burial are entered. His grave is in the floor of the church and there is nothing to mark the stone slab that covers it but the familiar lines:

At Edinburgh we saw the home of John Knox and were impressed anew with the tremendous influence which he exerted upon the religious life of Scotland. Seldom has it fallen to the lot of one man to so stamp his thought upon so many people. In Edinburgh also stands the little chapel, less known to tourists, in which the Covenanters met and in which the struggle began between them and the Church of England. It is hard to believe that so short a time ago there was a bloody war between two branches of the Protestant Church, in which thousands suffered martyrdom for their religious convictions.

We visited Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond, to which Scot has given a permanent place in literature, and after seeing them will not enter into a dispute with any Highlander, however extravagant his praise of these beautiful lakes. And if I may digress for a moment, we also visited the lakes of Killarney of which Moore sang. They also are beautiful enough to move a poet's heart and inspire a poet's pen, although to be truthful I must assert that Lake Tahoe, which shines like a jewel in the crown of the Sierras, on the boundary line between California and Nevada, need not fear comparison with any of the lakes of Scotland or Ireland. In one thing, however, we cannot compare with England, Scotland and Ireland, namely, the ivy-mantled ruin. It is picturesque and pleasing to the eye and yet who would exchange a plain cottage, occupied by a happy family, for the crumbling vine-clad walls of a tenantless castle?

From Glasgow we went by automobile to Ayr, the birthplace of Burns. Thirty-three miles out and thirty-three miles back, and it rained nearly the entire way! We were sustained amid the discomforts of the trip by our interest in Scotland's rustic bard, whose simple lays have endeared him to the universal heart, but our sympathies went out to two kind friends, Mr. McKillup, a member of parliament, and Mr. Henry Wright, a Glasgow barrister, who accompanied us. It was an humble cottage in which Burns first saw the light and in which he lived when he made the acquaintance of those rollicking companions, Tam O'Shanter and Souter Johnny. Near by is the famous bridge over the "Bonny Doon" of whose "banks and braes" he sang, and not far away are the old bridge and the new one which his fancy clothed with life and brought together in animated dialogue. After visiting the places and looking upon the scenes enshrined in literature by his verse one reads with even greater zest the homespun ballads of this impulsive apostle of democracy. I was glad to learn that increasing thousands wend their way to his birthplace each year and that among the visitors Americans are very numerous.

We reserved for the conclusion of our tour of the British Isles Hawarden Castle, the home of Gladstone. With our usual luck we reached Hawarden just as Mr. Henry Gladstone arrived from his home, eight miles away, and were taken through the house and grounds by him. The estate of several thousand acres, which came into the family from Mrs. Gladstone's ancestors, has just passed, according to the law of primogeniture, into the hands of a grandson of Mr. Gladstone. The new owner is a sober, studious young man who has already achieved distinction in college debates and who is preparing himself for a public career. While we enjoyed a drive through the woods and through the park, where the elder Gladstone was wont to cut down trees for exercise, our interest naturally centered in the big, roomy house, castle-like in its structure, and in the commodious library where England's Christian statesman labored for more than threescore years, for it must be remembered that his public life extended over two generations. The walls are concealed by books, and shelves jut out into the room at right angles. Gladstone was a prodigious worker and, amidst the cares of official life, found time to devote to the classics, to the sciences and to religious discussion. Among the busts in the room is one of Disraeli, his most conspicuous political antagonist. The prominence thus given to his distinguished opponent may possibly be explained, as Hercules explained the courtesy shown by him to the goddess whose enmity compelled him to perform the labors which made him immortal.

Opening off from the library is a fireproof vault in which Mr. Gladstone kept his papers and valuable documents, and he was so methodical that Mr. John Morley, his biographer, found the materials for his work in excellent order. Not far from the house is a large building, erected as a memorial to Gladstone, which contains his religious library of several thousand volumes. The family has built a dormitory adjoining the library to accommodate the students who come from all countries to study theological questions.

We also visited the chapel near by where the statesman attended church and often read the service. His son-in-law, the present rector, showed us the memorial, since unveiled, which will draw multitudes to this historic edifice. It is a marble group by the sculptor Richmond and represents the great Commoner and his wife sleeping side by side, an angel guarding them with outstretched wings. It is fitting that they should thus rest at the end of life, for they had together borne life's burdens and together shared the many triumphs that crowned their efforts. While he was master of the ship of state, she was mistress of an ideal home; while he was seeking to ameliorate the condition of the whole people, she was conducting a private orphanage within a stone's throw of the castle, an institution still maintained in her memory. So happy was the long married life of this well-mated pair that at the approach of death he requested the family not to permit his interment in Westminster Abbey, except on condition that his wife be given a place beside him, and this unusual honor was paid them.

Although nations boast of material wealth and manufacturing plants, their most valuable assets are their men and women of merit, and their greatest factories are their institutions of learning, which convert priceless raw material into a finished product of inestimable worth. Gladstone, vigorous in body, strong in mind and elevated in moral purpose, was an ornament to the age in which he lived and will be an inspiration to succeeding generations.

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The peninsula which Spain and Portugal divide between them is the part of western Europe least visited by Americans, although it stretches out like a friendly hand toward the western hemisphere and has furnished not only the discoverer of North America, but the colonizers of Central and South America. When, early last June, we attempted to secure homeward passage, we found the ships sailing from Hamburg, Bremen and Antwerp already filled and had to look to a Mediterranean boat for accommodation. I mention this experience in the hope that it may help some other traveler who finds himself in the same dilemma, for we not only secured satisfactory accommodations on one of the North German Lloyd steamers, the Princess Irene, but had in addition an opportunity to see the most backward country in western Europe, the stronghold of the Moors during the middle ages and one of the great fortresses of the globe.

A fast train makes the distance from Paris to Madrid in a little over a day, the only drawback being that it passes through the Pyrenees in the night. As we had remained in Paris longer than we expected, we were deprived of a view of the mountain scenery and of the summer resorts of northern Spain. Morning found us in the very heart of Castile and the landscape resembles some parts of Mexico. The country is in the midst of the dry season and, the grain having been gathered, the fields look quite barren save for the vineyards. These are numerous all over Spain and recall the fact that Spain, like other colonizers, tried to make her colonies supplement her own products rather than compete with them. She forbade grape growing in Cuba, and in Mexico not only prohibited the culture of the vine, but the production of silk also. Speaking of grapes, it is only fair to say that, in this fruit, Spain cannot be surpassed. Nowhere have we found grapes so abundant, so cheap or so delicious. At a Vienna hotel last June they were asking three dollars for a cluster—probably raised in a hot house—that in August could be bought in Spain for ten or fifteen cents. The large white grapes exported to the United States and sold as a luxury during the winter months are here within the reach of all.

All along the railroad one sees primitive agricultural methods. The old-fashioned threshing floor is in common use, but instead of the flail they employ a machine resembling a light disc harrow, which is hitched to a pair of mules and drawn rapidly round and round. When the wheat is separated from the straw, men go over the threshing floor and winnow out the wheat, the wind blowing away the chaff. We were informed that they had had a prosperous year in the grain districts, but the stubble did not indicate as heavy a crop as we raise in the United States.

Madrid surprised us. It contains more than half a million of inhabitants, is about two thousand feet above the sea and is really a very attractive city. It is not an ancient city, being less than a thousand years old, but it has substantial blocks, a beautiful boulevard and a picture gallery one and a half centuries old. In the different galleries at Madrid are some of the best canvases of Velasquez and Murillo.

As in all other Spanish countries one finds here reminders of the national sport, the bull fight. Each city has its amphitheater or circular bull pit, and it is often the most conspicuous building in the place; the fans—and in Spain the fan is omnipresent and often of great value—are ornamented with scenes from the bull fight and the bill boards blaze with announcements of the next Sunday's combat. The bull fight is probably a lineal descendant of the gladiatorial contests of Rome, a surviving relic of brutality, which must disappear when Spain follows her northern neighbors in the adoption of universal education. At present her percentage of illiteracy is disgracefully large.

While Spain has a constitutional government and goes through the form of electing a legislative body, her elections do not seem to be characterized by the freedom and fairness that attend elections in northern Europe. There is, however, in this country, as in others, a growing spirit of reform which is already demanding more schools and less religious interference in the government. Much is expected of the present king, both because of the independence which he has manifested and because the new queen comes from England, where parliamentary government has for centuries been an established fact.

Before leaving Madrid a word should be said in regard to the Toledo ware—iron and steel inlaid with gold. It resembles somewhat the Damascene work of Japan and the old inlaid work of Damascus and Constantinople. The far famed Toledo blade was not less dangerous in war because it was ornamented with delicate tracery of gold.

A night's ride brought us to Cordova, once the Moorish capital of Spain. It had been a city of some note under the Romans before the Christian era, and the Moors undertook to make it a western Mecca for the Mohammedans. There are still to be seen two gates and a wall, which were built by the Romans, and a bridge which rests upon the foundations laid by the great builders. The bridge with its massive arches and ponderous piers is interesting for other than historic reasons, as it gives evidence of the fact that the Moors were quick to appreciate and to follow the example of their predecessors. In the stream near the bridge are three grist mills dating from the middle ages, one of which still supplies flour to the neighborhood.

The old mosque, however, is the overshadowing object of interest in Cordova, and in itself well repays a visit to this city of narrow, winding streets and oriental appearance. The ground plan of the mosque covers about two hundred and forty thousand square feet—nearly as much as St. Peter's at Rome, but one-third of the space is occupied by a court where the worshipers assemble and purify themselves before entering upon their devotions. The mosque was some four centuries in building, one ruler after another extending its limits in order to accommodate the increasing number of converts. In appearance the structure is low and flat and gives little idea of its immensity. It is surrounded by a strong wall heavily buttressed and is entered by huge gates. One of these gates bears striking testimony to a remarkable agreement entered into by the Christians and Mohammedans whereby the two antagonistic religions divided the church between them. These gates are covered with plates of bronze on which Catholic and Arabic symbols alternate. The joint occupation did not last very long, but Abderrahman, when he desired to secure more room for the followers of the Prophet, was considerate enough to purchase the other half from the Christians.

The interior of the mosque is a succession of arches supported by nearly a thousand pillars and these pillars, the traveler is told, were brought from Carthage, France and Italy. Workmen were secured in Constantinople by one of the caliphs and it is possible to find almost every variety of architecture in the columns themselves or in their capitals and bases.

When Cordova was recaptured by the Christians in the thirteenth century a part of this building was converted into a cathedral and to-day it presents a curious combination of chapel, altar, shrine and mosque. The most attractive decorations in the mosque are the mosaics, and the superb wood carving in the principal choir are of rare merit. One series of these pictures in wood illustrates Old Testament history, while another portrays the principal events in the life of Christ.

The road from Cordova—Cordova, once the center of art, Arabic learning and religion, but now a prosaic town of less than sixty thousand—to Granada, the last stronghold of the Moors north of the Mediterranean, leads through a succession of olive groves. Nowhere, not even in Palestine or about the mount that bears the olive's name, have we seen such an abundance of these trees. From the importance of this industry one would suppose that southern Europe could supply olive oil enough without importing cotton seed from the United States, and yet we have been assured by shippers that a great deal of the olive oil which we buy from Europe is really cotton seed oil, which has twice crossed the Atlantic.

The city of Granada is situated at the foot of the Sierra Nevada, upon whose summit some snow still lingered when two-thirds of the month of August had passed. The city stretches back towards the mountains and derives its food supply from a splendid valley which extends toward the west to the Atlantic. At one time Granada had a population of two hundred and fifty thousand, but to-day less than a third of that number can be counted in the city. In the height of its glory Granada's kings held court in oriental fashion and surrounded themselves with a luxury which the colder countries of the north did not attempt to imitate. When the Indians roamed over the prairies and hunted through the forests of the western hemisphere, the Arab ruler had his palace on the height of Alhambra and, turning his face toward Mecca, prayed for the extermination of the infidel; his warriors went out from this fortress to ravage the surrounding country and, returning laden with spoil, held high carnival on the banks of the Darro. The fairest of the women of his race were gathered into the harem and flowers and fountains gave perfume and freshness to his habitation.

Washington Irving has contributed so much to literature on the Alhambra and its legends that it is not necessary to undertake a description of this fascinating palace of the Moorish kings. It crowns a hill much as the Parthenon crowns the Acropolis, or as the summer residence of Mexico's president crowns Chapultepec. Irving found the palace neglected and occupied by wandering families whose members felt no interest in its preservation. He helped to arouse an interest in the place which has led the government not only to protect it from further vandalism, but to restore many of its parts. Its rooms, halls, audience chambers, courts and baths are all finished in most elaborate style. As in other Mohammedan buildings, the ornamentation is in geometrical figures and flowers, as the followers of this religion carry their aversion to idolatry so far that they do not use human figures or even animals in decoration. The material employed in the Alhambra is stucco and it is surprising what delicacy and grace characterize the work. One finds here a reminder of the screens which play so important a part in the tombs built by the Mohammedan conquerors in India, except that in India marble is used.

To the American the room known as the Hall of the Ambassadors is especially interesting because in this room, if the word of the guide can be relied upon, Ferdinand and Isabella received Columbus just before he embarked upon his voyage of discovery.

A part of the Alhambra was torn down by order of Charles the Fifth, who, early in the sixteenth century, conceived the idea of building himself a palace of modern design. The structure was never finished, however, and stands to-day a ruin, more substantial but less beautiful than the palace which it was intended to outshine. The Moors built a great cistern within the outer walls of Alhambra and brought water from the mountains to supply it. It is so far below the surface that the water is always cool and the water is so perfectly filtered that even now it is greatly sought for drinking. This far-sighted provision not only for present wants, but for possible siege, seems to have been characteristic of the Moors, for the city of Constantinople was likewise protected by immense underground reservoirs.

Granada has a considerable gypsy population. From the Alhambra one can see their dwellings on an opposite hillside. The rooms are hewn out of the stone, with only the door visible. All in all, Granada offers as much of variety as one can find anywhere in Europe and more glimpses of the oriental life of the past than can be seen anywhere else west of the Bosphorus.

The rock of Gibraltar has no advertising matter on it. In this respect only does it differ from the photographs with which every reader is familiar. It is, however, larger than the pictures indicate. It is an immense limestone formation rising abruptly from the water to a height of fourteen hundred feet. It is about three miles long and at the widest point three-quarters of a mile across. It is evident that it was once an island, for the low, flat strip of ground which connects it with the main land seems to have been formed by the washing in of the sand. The triangular face of the rock, which is usually photographed, looks toward the land instead of toward the sea, the water front being much less imposing. A town of twenty-six thousand inhabitants has grown up around the base of the rock, fully twenty per cent of the population being made up of the English garrison. It is strictly a military town and the government does not encourage the settlement of civilians there. The rock is full of concealed cannon and is supposed to be impregnable. It seems to be perforated with galleries and one sees the nose of a cannon poked out at every commanding point. When the wind is from the east a cloud hovers over the rock, sometimes concealing its summit. While the harbor at Gibraltar is not an especially good one, it is one of the most frequented in the world, and the dry docks will accommodate the largest ships. Just beyond the rock of Gibraltar there is a strip of neutral ground, one side sentineled by the British, the other by the Spanish. Several thousand Spaniards enter the city every morning, for all the manual labor is done by them, and return to their homes at night. Just across the bay or harbor is the Spanish city of Algeciras and, from both Algeciras and Gibraltar, boats cross the strait to Tangiers, the Morocco capital.

We had planned to make this trip, but were deterred partly because a revolution in Tangiers made it uncertain that we would be able to land, and partly because unfavorable weather threatened to delay our return.

I found at Gibraltar an instance of hereditary officeholding which is not often paralleled among our people. The position of American consul has been in one family for eighty-four years consecutively. The present occupant, Mr. Sprague, is the third of his line to represent our government, his father, who held the office for over fifty years, in turn succeeding his father. The present consul, Sprague, is intensely American, notwithstanding the long residence of his family outside the country.

As the traveler leaves Gibraltar for the west he bids farewell to Africa and to Europe at the same time—Gibraltar and a somewhat similar rock on the opposite side of the channel, the two, anciently known as the Pillars of Hercules, stand out in bold relief against the sky. These rocks are not the last land, however, although the most striking features. There is a point a few miles farther west known as Tarifa which, according to tradition, was once occupied by bold robbers who exacted tribute from all who passed by. It is even said that our word tariff traces its origin to this Tarifa; if it be true that the two words are related it is fitting that Tarifa should be the last thing seen by the traveler on his departure, for the tariff is the first thing which he encounters upon his arrival in America.

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The articles of this series, taken in connection with the articles written during a former visit to Europe, cover all of the countries which I have visited, and nothing is left but to offer some generalizations covering the more important questions discussed in the course of these articles. First, as to routes of travel. We have found the trip around the globe far more instructive than we had expected, and it was entered upon for educational reasons. There is so much to see and learn that one can occupy an indefinite time in travel. We set apart a year for the trip and reached home sixteen days within the limit. Those who have followed these letters will admit, I think, that we have covered a great deal of ground and seen a great deal of the world. If we were repeating the trip, I hardly know of any country that we could afford to leave out, and I am satisfied that it is better to start from the Pacific coast than from the Atlantic. One could make the trip in half the time that we spent and see a great deal, but he can see more if he has a year or two to spare for the journey.

If one desires to make the trip in six months, he should set apart about two months for ocean travel. He could then devote two weeks to Japan, ten days to China, a week to Manila, three weeks to India, a week to Egypt, two weeks to the Holy Land, a week to Greece and Constantinople, and the rest of the time to Europe. To go through Korea would require ten days or two weeks more, but the Hermit Kingdom is different from any other country, and its queer people are worth seeing. Very few of the tourists have visited Pekin, and yet, it is in some respects the most interesting of the Chinese cities. The Manchu element of the Chinese population—the ruling element—can only be seen at Pekin or in the northern districts. The Great Wall is near Pekin, and the wall around the city of Pekin is even more imposing than the great wall itself. The Altar of Heaven, the most beautiful and elaborate sacrificial altar on earth, is in the suburbs of the Chinese capital and in itself well repays a visit.

Until recently Pekin could only be entered from the sea via Tientsin. The railroad, however, from Pekin to Hankow was about completed when we were there, and this greatly facilitates travel through the interior. If one goes on through Korea, it is best to go on to Pekin by water and then go on the railroad to Hankow and down the Yangtse river to Shanghai.

Every American who visits the Orient should spend some days in the Philippine Islands. He owes it to his country to do so. If he will visit the schools, he will be convinced that there is increasing intelligence in the islands, and he will not doubt that the people want independence. An inspection of the factories will prove that the Filipinos are industrious as well as intelligent.

It takes about two weeks to go from Singapore to Java and return, but we remember that visit as one of the most delightful parts of the trip. The ruined temple at Boro Boedoer, the delicious fruits, the terraced hills, the far reaching rice fields and the shady drives linger in one's memory.

To visit Ceylon, Burma and India requires a good deal of travel upon the Bay of Bengal. We went to Ceylon, then back to Burma, then on to Calcutta. Some go to Burma and then to India and return to Ceylon from Bombay, but all three of these countries are interesting, and one can hardly afford to pass by any of them. Burma is the home of Buddhism, and one can learn more of the worship of Buddha here than anywhere else. The yellow-robed priest with his begging-bowl is everywhere present.

I have already discussed India and Egypt somewhat in detail, and no traveler need be urged to visit these countries. Palestine, however, is skipped by so many travelers that I may be pardoned a word of advice. Of all the countries which we visited none interested us more than the Holy Land, and no member of a Christian church can afford to visit southern Europe or pass through the Suez canal without seeing that portion of Asia which is immortalized by Bible history. The ruins at Baalbek, in some respects the most remarkable in the world, attract many to Beyrout, Damascus and the Lebanons, but the Sea of Galilee, Jerusalem and the Jordan have lessons for the tourist of far greater importance than can be derived from the ruins of heathen temples.

If the reader lacks either time, inclination or means for a trip around the world, he will find one of the shorter trips to Europe only second in interest and value. The Mediterranean trip is a very popular one. This, according to its length, permits a visit to Gibraltar, Alexandria, Cairo, Palestine, Constantinople, Greece and Italy. From Gibraltar it is a short trip to Granada, Cordova and Madrid, and our own experience leads me to commend this trip to the traveler. At Cairo and Constantinople the Orient comes nearest to Europe and America, and the difference between the Orient and the western world is so striking that no one visiting southern Europe should miss the Nile and Bosphorus. One can spend weeks, and even months, about the shores of the Mediterranean; Africa, Asia Minor and Europe all touch upon this great inland sea. Without leaving its shores one can study the most opposite types which the human race has produced and at the same time study the history of the oldest periods known to man. Egypt should be visited before the end of March, while April is the best month for a trip to Palestine.

In Italy alone one could occupy a winter. Rome, the center of the Catholic world and the home of the Cæsars, is a most fascinating city. There are no mosaics like those of St. Peters and few galleries equal those of the Vatican, while masterpieces of sculptors and painters are to be found on every hand. The old Roman forum is the Mecca of the student, and the Coliseum is still a wonder, defying as it has the storms of nearly two thousand years. At Naples one sees Vesuvius and lava beds formed but a few months ago. At one place the stream of lava poured through an archway and hardened as it cooled. When we were there the lava was like stone and could with difficulty be broken. At Florence one sees the best specimens of modern sculpture, and at Milan he visits one of the most famous of the European cathedrals.

Venice is in a class by itself. No other city rivals it in uniqueness. Its streets are canals, and gondolas are the vehicles in which potentate, priest and plebeian ride. It draws visitors from all over the world and sends them away, after a short visit, glad that they came and equally glad to escape from the dampness of the place.

If one desires a summer trip, he can find few journeys more delightful than those through Switzerland and along the Rhine. Lakes, rivers and mountains—these are to be found in abundance, with cities enough to supply the population and hotels to accommodate the the tourists. If one would combine pleasure with instruction, he can profitably employ considerable time in visiting the German universities at Heidelberg and Leipsic and the art galleries at Dresden and Munich. The cathedral at Cologne, it may be added, is by many preferred to the cathedral at Milan.

The northern portions of Europe are even more inviting to the summer tourist than Switzerland or the Rhine. The lakes of Ireland and Scotland and the seacoast resorts of England and Holland give rest and recuperation to multitudes every year. If I were going to suggest a summer trip, it would be as follows:

Leave New York early in June, land at Liverpool, cross over to Newcastle and take a steamer for Bergen, Norway. A week can be spent delightfully in the fjords and on the lakes in the neighborhood of Bergen. Such a combination of deep water and rugged mountain sides, rushing streams and crystal lakes is hard to find. Then let the tourist proceed to Trondhjem, the ancient capital, where King Haakon was recently crowned. From Trondhjem, the traveler can reach the Arctic circle in a little more than a day. While a day's stay is sufficient in the land of the midnight sun if the sky is clear, it is better to allow one's self two or three days' leeway as it is often cloudy in this latitude and at this time of the year. The midnight sun must be seen to be appreciated. No description can do it justice. To pass from day to day with no intervening night, to watch the sun linger for a while in the north near the horizon and then begin a new day's work without a moment's sleep gives one a sensation not soon forgotten. A railroad across Norway brings Christiania within a day's ride of Trondhjem, and from Christiania to Stockholm is another day.

Stockholm is sure to charm the visitor. It is a beautiful town beautifully situated; it stands where the waters of the lakes and the ocean meet. Several days can be spent in Stockholm to advantage, and then one is prepared for the boat ride to St. Petersburg, one of the rarest experiences that one can find in travel. The boat wends its way through islands almost the entire distance.

A week's stay in St. Petersburg will give an opportunity for an inspection of the capital of the greatest of the nations measured by territory, and one of the greatest measured by population. Here one has a chance to learn something of the Greek Church with its splendid cathedrals, rivaling the cathedrals of the Roman Catholic Church. Moscow is even more distinctly Russian than St. Petersburg, and the art gallery there surpasses the one at St. Petersburg in its collection of the works of Russian artists. Tolstoy's summer home is not far from Moscow, and many take advantage of the trip to see the greatest of living philosophers.

The ride from St. Petersburg to Moscow and from Moscow to Warsaw gives a very good view of the interior of Russia, and one can stop off at most any place and learn something of the village life of the Russian peasant. Several days can be occupied in Berlin, and other points of interest can easily be reached from Germany's capital. Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark, is only half a day's ride distant. Hanover, Hamburg, Brussels, Amsterdam and The Hague are all within easy reach. In Germany one has an opportunity to learn a great deal about forestry, agriculture and landscape gardening. The parks, groves, shady drives and boulevards furnish the American traveler with many suggestions while the battlefield of Waterloo and the lowlands of Holland will ever be interesting to the student of history.

The tour can be completed by a visit to Paris and London. The social season in the latter ends early in August with the adjournment of parliament. In three months' time one can make this northern trip and return with a fund of information about the countries and their peoples which could never be collected from books. It is not an expensive trip even for first class travel, and the accommodations furnished by the steamers and railroads for second class passengers are such that one can reduce his expenses considerably without discomfort.

But let me add, in conclusion, that one does not have to leave America to find places of interest and that no one can justify a trip abroad until he has become acquainted with his own country. Europe has no summer resorts that surpass the cities on the St. Lawrence, on our northern lakes and in the mountains of the west. In America one can have every variety from salt-sea bathing to mountain climbing, with fishing thrown in. In natural scenery there is nothing in Europe which surpasses the Niagara, Yellowstone Park, and the Yosemite Valley of California. There are no agricultural views which surpass those in the valleys on the Ohio, the Mississippi and the Missouri, and for a restful winter trip Hawaii, Mexico and Cuba offer attractions that are unexcelled. While the Western Hemisphere is not so old in its civilization, the only advantage that the Orient and Europe can furnish is in the variety of races, customs and religions. In natural scenery America satisfies all expectations. Nothing but the Himalayas offers more sublime heights, and the earth has no other chasm equal to the Grand Canyon of Arizona. After one has seen the wonders of America and the possibilities of its soil, its institutions and its people, he can go abroad with the assurance that he will return, more widely informed, it is true, but more intensely American than before. There is no country like ours, whether it be measured by the bountiful gifts of the Creator or by the works of man. In all that goes to make a nation great materially, commercially, intellectually, politically and morally, our country has no peer. The American, returning to his own shores, feels like thanking Scott for expressing so felicitously the traveler's sentiments:

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In former letters I have mentioned the missionary work being done by Americans in the Orient, and I deem the subject important enough for an article, in view of the conflicting reports which have been brought back by tourists. We had an opportunity to investigate the work done by American missionaries in Hawaii, Japan, Korea, China, Singapore, India, Egypt, Palestine and Turkey. We met representatives of nearly all the churches in the various departments of missionary work, and as a result of our observations our interest in foreign missions has been quickened. In Hawaii the missionaries laid the foundation for the present civilization in the islands and exerted a most beneficial influence upon the natives.

In Japan the missionary work has spread rapidly and is carried on under four heads. The religious teacher presents the gospel and establishes churches; the school teacher arouses an interest in education and establishes schools; the medical missionary, by unselfishly rendering obvious service, opens the way for both the preacher and the school teacher, while the Young Men's Christian Association and its accompanying organization, the Young Women's Christian Association, weld the church membership into a religious but unsectarian working body. The rapid growth in public instruction has somewhat dwarfed the relative importance of the mission schools in Japan, and the spread of the science of medicine has made the work of the medical missionary less conspicuous there, but the religious teacher in Japan has a field which is not surpassed anywhere. The Japanese people are rapidly drifting away from Buddhism, which until recently was the national faith. Shintoism, which has become the state religion, is not a religion at all, but a reverence for ancestors. Japan must have a religion, for no nation is likely to avoid decay unless its morals are reinforced by religion. If I had the authority to decide the question, I would send some of the leading men of each denomination to Japan to present Christianity to the educated Japanese. English is taught in the schools of Japan, and one can speak to the Japanese without the aid of an interpreter. This proposition I tested several times. While it would be an advantage to have preachers who could speak the Japanese language, still, it is more important that we should send our ablest divines there—men who can meet the most intelligent of the Japanese upon an equal footing and defend before them the Christian philosophy of life.

Japan is the gateway of the Orient, and is to-day exerting an influence upon China greater than the combined influence of all the European nations. Western civilization is likely to enter China through Japan. In fact, I believe that the Christian religion, presented to the Chinese by the Japanese, would spread more rapidly than if presented in any other way, for China has come to regard Japan as a leader of thought. More than five thousand Chinese students are now at schools in Japan, and Japanese teachers are being more and more employed in China. Some of the most earnest Christians whom we met are natives of Japan. At Tokyo, at Kioto, and at Kagoshima I was especially impressed with the sincerity and enthusiasm of the Japanese Christians. I could not but recall the lines "Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love" as I saw how much stronger this heart tie is than the ties of blood or race or language.

In Seoul, Korea, we found a very successful medical mission and a flourishing Young Men's Christian Association. We also learned of several Christian congregations.

In China mission work has made great progress, although it has had to bear the brunt of the fight now being made against foreign influence. During the Boxer trouble there were examples of heroism among the Chinese Christians which recalled the early days of martyrdom. There were those who suffered death because of their devotion to the Christian faith, and thousands more who did not hesitate to take the part of the white Christians against members of their own race. It takes time to educate a race or to make an impression upon a great population like the population of China, but the next quarter of a century is likely to see the Christian religion spread more rapidly among the inhabitants of the Flowery Kingdom than it has during the last century.

That our missionaries often make mistakes need not be denied. They are human, and to err is the lot of all. A missionary among strangers must exercise more sagacity and discretion than one who works among people of his own race. The wonder is not that missionaries make mistakes, but that they do not make more than are now charged to them. It is even possible that a missionary occasionally proves untrue to his calling—is it strange that this should happen to a missionary almost alone and with but little sympathetic support, when it sometimes happens to ministers who are surrounded by friends and hedged in so that a fall would seem almost impossible?

One part of the missionary's work has received scant notice, namely—the planting of western ideas in the Orient. The daily life of a missionary is not only a constant sermon, but to a certain extent, an exposition of western ways. His manner of dress and his manner of living are noted, and even if he did not say a word, he would make an impression upon those about him. It would be worth while to send Christians to the Orient merely to show the fullness and richness of a Christian life, for, after all, the example of an upright person, living a life of service according to the Christian ideal, is more eloquent than any sermon—it is the unanswerable argument in favor of our religion.

It is sometimes suggested by those unfriendly to missionary work that missionaries live in too great comfort. This criticism will not have weight with those who have attempted to live in the Orient upon the salary of a missionary, but even if the missionaries lived more luxuriantly than they do, that would still exert a beneficial influence. As the Chinaman becomes educated he learns of the manners and customs of the people of other nations, and the home of the missionary gives an opportunity for comparisons. In China there is polygamy, while the missionary has but one wife. In the Chinese home the birth of a son is the occasion for rejoicing; the birth of a daughter an occasion for less rejoicing, if not actual mourning. In the missionary's home the girl child is as welcome as the boy. The missionary's wife is not only a standing rebuke to the practice of foot-binding, but is a stimulus to the movement now setting in for the education of women.

The Catholic missionaries reach a class which might not be reached by Protestant missionaries and Protestant missionaries appeal to some who could not be reached by the Catholic missionaries. Each church does its own work in its own way, and the result is better than if either church attempted to follow the example of the other. The celibacy of the priest and his voluntary sacrifice of home and its joys that he may more fully devote himself to religion—these appeal to some, especially to those who have been impressed with the asceticism of the religious teachers of the Orient. There are others, however, who are more impressed with a form of Christianity which does not deny to its ministers the advantages of the family. In other words, the different branches of the Christian Church, each pursuing its own way, meet the widely different needs of the heathen better than any one church could do it.

Missionary work in the Malay states has been very slow because the Malays are nearly all Mohammedans, and it has been found difficult to make headway against this religion. The Mohammedan believes in one God, accepts most of the Old Testament, and regards Christ as a great prophet, but claims that Mahomet was a later prophet and a greater one.

Burma, the home of Buddhism, is one of the best missionary fields, and great success has attended the Baptist mission, which has its headquarters at Rangoon.

For many years American missionaries have been establishing schools and churches in India. While this field has also been developed by the English missionaries, I was informed that a majority of the Sunday school children are now attending American Sunday schools. It is one of the indisputable proofs of our country's supremacy in altruistic work that though drawing nothing whatever from India in the way of revenue, it sends into India every year for religious and educational purposes almost as much as England does, notwithstanding the fact that England draws something like a hundred millions a year from India.

We found the various departments of Christian work growing vigorously in India. Medical missionaries are winning the confidence and the affections of the unfortunate; teachers are bringing increasing thousands to a higher level of intellectual development; and the ministers are explaining to the people why it is that the Christian is sympathetic and benevolent. Simply stated, the medical missionary compels attention, the school teacher takes the one whose attention has been aroused and furnishes an education which enables the pupil to see things in their proper relation, while the minister points out the philosophy of the efforts of the other two and presents the conception of life, which leads both medical missionary and teacher to separate themselves from home and friends and devote themselves to people who are connected with them only by the primal ties which bind each human being to every other.

I shall long remember two meetings which I addressed in India. One was held under the auspices of the Y. M. C. A. at Allahabad, one of the centers of the Hindu religion. At the conclusion of my address an Indian arose and addressed me as follows. "Mr. Bryan, you can not judge of the influence of Christianity upon our country by the number of church members. The spirit of Christ and the Christian ideal have made an impression far wider than the church membership would indicate. Tell your people that the Indians are grateful to them for the missionaries and teachers whom they have sent among us, and tell them how few these are in number compared with our needs. Send us more, and assure your people that we appreciate the benefits received from America."

This unsolicited testimonial to the good work of our missionaries and teachers is entirely deserved. The influence of Christianity upon the Orient is vastly greater than one would think, if the church membership were the test. The stimulus which is given to Eastern thought is enormous, and already the Hindus, Parsees and Mohammedans are imitating the methods of the Christian world and establishing schools independent of the government. The education of the boys is proceeding more rapidly than the education of the girls, but the latter is not entirely neglected. One Mohammedan woman, of Bombay, of unusual mental strength and character, outlined a plan which she had formed for establishing a school for the women of her religious faith.

The Bombay meeting was in some respects the most remarkable meeting that I ever addressed. Rev. Mr. Mell, an American, is pastor of the Methodist Church in Bombay. While in Calcutta I received a letter from him asking me to deliver in Bombay, in his church, the lecture entitled "The Prince of Peace," which I delivered at Tokyo and at Manila. As the time approached for the meeting, he concluded that his church would not be large enough for the audience and arranged to secure the Town Hall, which accommodates about three thousand people. He was somewhat fearful that this hall would be larger than necessary, but it was the only audience room that he could secure. When the time came for the meeting, the hall was not only filled to overflowing, but the crowd outside was such that it was difficult for us to effect an entrance. On the platform were prominent Hindus, Mohammedans and Parsees, and three-fourths of the audience, at least, was made up of non-Christian Indians. Yet these people listened for more than an hour to a defense of the Christian religion—listened as attentively as any audience ever listened to a political speech, and when I went from the hall, the younger men were massed along the way and cheered as our people cheer during the campaign. The next day I received a letter from one of the young men thanking me for shaking hands with him as I passed out.

In the letters on India I have referred to the Presbyterian college at Allahabad. At Bombay we found a Congregational school for boys and girls and a school for the blind. It touches one's heart to see these sightless little Indians cared for by American philanthropy and, under the teaching of sympathetic friends, made more capable of self-support and raised to a higher intellectual level than millions who can see. Many of the children taken into these schools are orphans whose parents died during the famines. What a history might be written if the events of their lives were put on record, and how much evidence would be furnished to those who endeavor to trace the providence of God in the lives of individuals as well as in the course of nations.

I have in another article referred to the work of the United Presbyterians in the valley of the Nile. It would be difficult to overestimate the influence which these pioneer Americans have exerted over the descendants of the Pharaohs. The government is giving more and more attention to educational matters in Egypt, but the first work was done by the missionaries, and no one can appreciate what this work means who has not had an opportunity to compare the boys and the girls in the schools with the children who are growing up in ignorance outside. In Jerusalem the Catholic school for girls most interested us, and I need not add that the Catholic missionaries have in many countries been the first to risk their lives in the spread of the the gospel and in the establishment of schools, orphan asylums and hospitals.

In Syria and in Turkey the Americans are very active. For half a century they have made Beyrout headquarters for Syria, and their churches and schools are scattered all over this portion of Asia. At Constantinople also we met a large company of the representatives of the various American churches, and their schools have been built on both sides of the Bosphorus.

Why spend money on foreign missions? If the Oriental is happy in his idolatry or in his worship of God through other religious forms, why disturb him? These questions may be answered in various ways, but one answer will suffice for the purpose of this article. The Christian ideal of life is the highest ideal. There is no more beautiful conception of life than that it is an overflowing spring. There is no true measure of greatness except the Christian measure, namely—service. If this ideal is good enough for America, it is good enough for all the world. If truth must, according to eternal laws, triumph, then this ideal must triumph over all lower ones, and how can it triumph over lower ideals unless it is brought into contact with them? If we see a man engaged in some useful work, but laboring with antiquated tools, it is a kindness to him to offer him an implement that will increase his effectiveness. If we see a man following a low ideal and making but little of life, is it not a kindness to offer him a higher one which will not only enlarge his usefulness but his happiness as well? If the Christian ideal is worthy to be followed in America, it is worthy to be presented in every land, and experience has shown that it is an ideal capable of being made universal, for it has commended itself to people of every clime and of every tongue.

But it is said that we must not neglect home missions in our zeal to carry the gospel and its attendant blessings to foreign shores. This is a familiar objection, but as a rule it is urged by those who do the least for home missions. I think I am far within the truth when I say that the most liberal contributors to foreign missions are also the most liberal contributors to home missions and that those who are so afraid that work at home will be sacrificed for work abroad are the very ones who themselves make few sacrifices for the work at home. The same spirit which leads one to be generous in the support of those benevolences which are immediately about him leads him to take an interest in the needy wherever they are found. The same spirit which makes one anxious to have the Sermon on the Mount known in his neighborhood leads him to desire that the knowledge of this sermon and the philosophy which it contains shall be brought to the people of all the world.

There is another answer to those who say that we must confine our efforts to the home field until we have supplied every moral need. If an individual refuses to assist in the improvement of others until he has himself reached perfection, who will be able to aid others? In the effort to help others one often finds more improvement than could come from a concentration of his efforts on himself. So the country which refuses to extend a helping hand to other lands until all its people have passed beyond the need of improvement will do nothing for the world. As the contributions to benevolences would be small, indeed, if only those contributed who could do so without sacrifice, so the contributions to the world's advancement would be but slight if only those helped others who were not themselves in need of help.

"Let him who would be the chiefest among you be the servant of all;" if this is the measure of national greatness, then our nation is the greatest of all, for its contributions to the world surpass the contributions made by any other nation. These contributions are made in three ways: First, it contributes through the men and women who have come from other lands to study here, and who carry American ideas back to their homes; second, through the men and women who have gone to other lands as preachers and teachers; and, third, through books and printed reports.

I venture the suggestion that it would be worth while to establish schools in the United States where representatives of other nations could be brought and made acquainted with Christianity and with the institutions which have grown up in Christian society. These could then go among their own people and preach with greater effectiveness than foreigners possibly can.

Next to this comes the education of the natives in schools established in their own land and this, of course, is far less expensive. From $40 to $50 a year will pay for the board, clothing and tuition of a student in the lower classes of an Oriental Christian college. If the hundreds of thousands of Christians who could, without sacrifice, educate one student a year could be induced to contribute money for this purpose, what an impetus would be given to the cause of Christianity throughout the Orient! And who, when he remembers what has been accomplished by one trained mind directed by a high and holy purpose, will attempt to estimate the beneficent influence of money thus spent? Who will set limits to the good that may be done by those Orientals who are preparing themselves for larger work under the instruction of American missionaries and teachers?

Making due allowance for the frailty of human nature and for the mistakes which all are liable to make, it may be said without fear of successful contradiction that the missionaries, physicians and teachers who consecrate themselves to the advancement of Asia's millions along Christian lines are as high minded, as heroic, as self-sacrificing, and, considering the great destiny of the race, as useful as any equal number of men and women to be found in any other part of the world.

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Each locality has its questions of interest; each state has subjects which arouse discussion; each nation has its issues of paramount importance, and the world has its problems. There are transient questions which come and go and questions which, like Tennyson's brook, "go on forever." Each generation, in each country, meets the issues presented by conditions, but all the nations of the earth are constantly grappling with problems universal in their scope and everlasting in duration. In his famous oration at Gettysburg, Abraham Lincoln spoke of an "unfinished work" which those buried there had promoted and to which the living should dedicate themselves. Every generation finds an unfinished work when it enters upon life's stage and leaves the work unfinished when it departs. The work of civilization is ever an unfinished one for the reason that new problems present themselves as soon as present ones have been solved. In our trip around the world we have had an opportunity to note some of the problems which most concern all peoples at all times. The first concerns the legitimate sphere of government—what should the government, acting for all the people, do, and what should be left to the individual? This problem is under consideration in every civilized nation, and no two nations have reached the same solution. At the two extremes stand the individualist and the socialist—the former jealously guarding the individual and opposing any encroachments upon his sphere of action, the latter emphasizing the work of the state and seeking to convert the work of production and the work of distribution into state functions. Between these extremes stand the mass of the people, governed more by the exigencies of each individual case than by the theories put forward by individualist and socialist. In some directions the governments of Europe and Asia have extended the sphere of the state beyond anything known in the United States; in some respects our government has enlarged the sphere of the state beyond anything attempted in the old world, but everywhere the tendency is to extend rather than to diminish the sphere of the state's activities.

In the United States the public school is probably the best illustration of extensive co-operation on the part of the public. We regard the education of the people as a matter of public importance—so vital a matter, in fact, that we no longer depend upon the private school. The private school has its place, and its establishment is encouraged by localities and regarded with favor by the government, but the people, acting as a whole, insist that the school door shall be open to every child born into the country. In the last quarter of a century much advance has been made in the establishment by the public of technical schools, such as law schools, medical colleges, dentistry schools, industrial schools and agricultural colleges. Probably the greatest comparative advance has been made in the matter of agricultural colleges and experiment stations. In Europe the public school system is spreading, more rapidly in northern than in southern Europe, but not less surely in southern Europe. In Asia the people are just beginning to recognize education as a public function—a part of the state's work. In Japan public instruction has for some years been modeled after the systems employed in the United States and Europe. In Asia the public school is more of a modern origin, but some idea of the rapidity with which the public school is spreading in China may be known from the fact that four thousand public schools have been established within five years in the district of one of the viceroys.

Municipal ownership presents another phase of this subject; a century ago comparatively few cities in this country or Europe owned their own waterworks; now it is the exception that any city of any size relies upon a private corporation for its water supply. City lighting is having the same history, although municipalization began later with lighting plants than with waterworks. Now comes the question of street car lines, and, as the same principles apply, the same inevitable trend toward municipal ownership is noticeable. The experience of all the cities has been practically the same; first, liberal franchises to induce the establishment of water, light or street car plants; second, efforts at regulation and restriction, made futile by the corrupt influence of the franchise companies; third, municipal ownership as a protection to the people and as a means of purifying politics. In the extent to which municipal ownership has been carried Great Britain leads the world, although in other countries some cities like Vienna have rivaled the cities of Great Britain.

In nearly all of the countries of Europe and Asia the telegraph lines are now owned by the government, and in most of the cities the telephone system is also owned by the public. It is hardly necessary to say that in all countries of any standing the mail service is now in the hands of the government. There is very noticeable growth in the government ownership of railroads. Many years ago the government ownership of railroads was tested in various European nations and the tendency toward the extension of government mileage and the diminution of the mileage of privately owned roads has been constant. In some countries there is still competition between the government lines and the lines owned by private corporations, but experience leaves no doubt that the lines owned by the government will ultimately supplant the roads in private hands. Switzerland has within four years purchased the main railroad system within her territory; Japan has within a year extended the government railroads by purchasing some of the roads formerly in private hands, and the Indian government is planning to absorb more of the privately owned lines. In France a number of the railroads hold fifty-year charters, which have now more than half expired, and which provide for the surrender of the lines to the government at the end of that period—the government in the meantime guaranteeing a fixed interest and an annual contribution to the sinking fund. It is not fair to compare the government railroads of Europe with the private railroads of America. The conditions are quite different. The comparison should be made between the government and private in the same country. Experience has shown that in the United States municipal plants furnish better and cheaper service than private plants.

While local considerations and local conditions have much to do in the determination of each case, there is one general principle which is becoming more and more clearly outlined as the question of government ownership is discussed, namely, that when a monopoly becomes necessary it must be a government monopoly and not a monopoly in private hands. In other words, the principle now most familiarly applied is, "competition where competition is possible; government monopoly where competition is impossible." I have not space for the discussion of details; many different methods have been employed in different countries for the acquiring of private plants by the city or state, and different methods have been employed in different countries for the elimination of the political element from public service. Those who have faith in the intelligence and capacity of the people have confidence that they will be able to reduce to a minimum any dangers attendant upon a course which they believe to be necessary to their own welfare. The fact that after more than a quarter of a century of experience no retrograde movement is to be observed furnishes some proof that the dangers anticipated have not been shown to be insurmountable.

Another world problem is to be found in the effort to fix woman's place in the social economy. No one can travel around the world without noting the wide difference that exists between the treatment of woman in different countries. In the Orient she has, until comparatively recent years, occupied a very inferior position. In no respect has the influence of the west upon the east been more marked than in the elevation of woman. Even in Japan, where for half a century the ideas of America and Europe have found vigorous growth, woman's position is not yet equal to man's. The education of boys received attention before the education of the girls, but the girls' schools are now multiplying in number and in attendance. Traveling in the country one still sees the blackened teeth, it formerly having been regarded as the proper thing for a woman to make her teeth black after marriage, but among the young generation the custom is unknown. In China woman has not only lagged behind man in education, but she has been subjected to a torture known as foot-binding which is to be found nowhere else. Societies are now being formed to discourage the practice, but it is sad to learn how slowly this reform has grown. In both Japan and China plural marriage, or what has been equivalent to plural marriage, has been common. The man has been allowed to take unto himself as many wives as he could support without asking the consent of former wives—a practice which seems strange to those who have been brought up to regard the marriage vows as mutually binding and to consider man and woman as standing upon an equal plane when entering upon the relation of husband and wife.

In India child marriage is one of the worst customs that has afflicted these unhappy people. Girls have been given in marriage when only nine or ten years old, and a widow of twelve or thirteen is not unusual. Remarriage of widows is not permitted under Hindu custom, suttee, or the burning of the widow, formerly being regarded as the proper thing. In both India and Arabia the women are still veiled and excluded from the society of men. It is difficult to estimate the loss that has come to society from the failure to recognize the mutual stimulus which man and woman find in co-operation in the work of civilization.

Even in Europe woman's position is not as good as it is in the United States, although in the Christian countries her rights are more respected and her good influence more appreciated. Max O'Rell, the witty French lecturer, used to say that if he was going to be born a woman he would pray to be born in the United States. It was a happy expression, for surely there is no other country in which so high an estimate is placed upon woman or where she more fully shares in both the joys and responsibilities of life. For the superiority of her position she has Christianity and education to thank; Christianity has ever recognized woman's equality with man and education has fitted her to be a real helpmate in life.

A third question which one meets everywhere is the labor question. In Europe it is a question between labor and capital and the laborer is organizing for the advancement of his welfare. The guild and the labor organization have long sought to enlarge the laborer's share of the joint profit of labor and capital and to improve the conditions which form his environment. The efforts of these societies have mainly been directed, first, toward the improvement of sanitary conditions; second, toward the shortening of hours; and, third, toward an increase in wages. It looks like a reflection on mankind in general to say that laboring men should have to ask legislation to protect their lives while at work. It would seem that employers would of their own accord regard the safety and the health of employes as of paramount importance, and yet it has been necessary even in the United States to compel the building of air-shafts in mines and to force the use of safety appliances on railroads and street car lines, and in the operation of machinery. Still more strange is it that it should be necessary to fix a minimum age at which children can be employed. The very sight of little boys and girls working in factories at the expense of their physical growth and their mental development is so revolting that one can hardly understand how such legislation can be necessary, and yet throughout Europe and the United States laboring men through their organizations have been compelled to fight for the protection of the children of the poor. In Asia the inauguration of factories has not yet been followed by the protection of the children.

Reforms advance in groups. It is seldom that one real reform is achieved alone, so the limitation of hours of labor has, as a rule, accompanied legislation for the protection of children and for the improvement of sanitary conditions in mines and workshops. Those who now enjoy an eight-hour day can remember the nine-hour day and the ten-hour day, but can hardly recall the days of twelve or fourteen hours. In the factories that are starting up in the Orient long hours are the rule, and with long hours there is the attendant degradation of the toiler. The demand for the eight-hour day is an international one and the laboring man is gradually winning his fight, partly by an appeal to conscience and partly by proof that the highest efficiency is inconsistent with long hours.

In the raising of wages two factors have been at work—the labor organization and the higher efficiency that has come with more universal education. The educated workman can earn more than the ignorant one and he soon demands a compensation commensurate with his services.

The labor saving machine, too, has played no unimportant part in increasing the workman's compensation. It has raised the quality of the work done and has brought into use a higher grade of skill than was formerly employed. While the labor saving machine is by some regarded as antagonistic to the welfare of the laborer, no farsighted observer can fail to note that it has increased rather than diminished the number employed at the work into which it has been introduced, while it has developed a higher skill which, in turn, has secured a higher compensation. The handling of a railroad locomotive requires more skill than the handling of a freight team, and the engineer commands higher wages than the teamster. The railroad by vastly increasing commerce has multiplied the number of persons engaged in the handling of passengers and freight, and it has at the same time improved the character of the work done and raised the intellectual standard of those employed. The same result has followed in other kinds of work. It might be stated thus: labor saving machinery, as it is called—although it might more properly be called labor-multiplying machinery—has created a demand for a higher grade of labor; universal education has supplied this demand, and the labor organization has secured for these higher grade laborers larger compensation and more favorable conditions.

One thought has grown upon me as we have traveled, namely, the dignity of labor. In no other country is so high an estimate placed upon the wage-earner as in this country. In the Orient there was, until the advent of western ideas, an impassable gulf between the prince and his people, and there is even now in a large part of Asia a gulf so wide that one who toils with his hands cannot look across it. The royal families have lived by the sword and they have forced from those beneath them a tribute sufficient to support themselves and their armed retainers. The masses have been the prey of the governing classes, no matter what tribe or family held the throne.

In Europe the extremes of society have been brought nearer together, although there is still a gap between the aristocracy and the masses. This gap, however, is constantly decreasing, education and popular government being the most influential factors in bringing about this result. With education now more and more within the reach of all, the poor boy is forcing his way to the front in business, and with his fortune thus acquired he is leveling rank. In the political world, too, the champion of the weak and the oppressed is making his influence felt and his political power is opening before him doors which until recently were closed. In France deputies, senators and even presidents have come up from the people, and in England a labor leader, John Burns, has fought his way into the cabinet. Who will say that the European laboring man is not making progress when labor's foremost representative in Great Britain becomes the guest of the king?

Yes, America leads the world in recognition of the true worth of the man who toils, and yet even in America there is room for still further advancement. Our national life is full of instances of men who have risen from office boy to merchant prince, from plowman to governor, congressman and senator; we have had a rail-splitter made president—and no president ever bore himself better or served amid more trying times—while another president could recall the days when he followed the towpath on a canal. And yet, with these illustrious examples of poverty overcome and great careers built upon a foundation of manual labor, there is still much to be done before the producer of wealth will receive the consideration which he deserves. The dignity of labor will not be appreciated as it ought to be until our young men are taught that it is more honorable to contribute by labor to the sum of the world's wealth than to spend in idleness the money that others have made.

Tolstoy contends that people cannot be kept in sympathy with each other unless all perform some physical labor throughout their lives; he says that contempt for those who do the drudgery of life is natural if we put that drudgery upon others and reserve for ourselves only intellectual pursuits. Whether this be true or not, it is true that we cannot view labor in its proper relation to life unless we measure life by a standard different from that which is now ordinarily applied. So long as we measure life by its income rather than by its outgo, we shall seek those occupations which yield the largest pecuniary reward; when we measure life by what we put into the world rather than what we take out of it, we shall seek those occupations which offer the largest field of usefulness.

Enough has been said to indicate that the world's work is broad enough to enlist all who are willing to work and that the variety is sufficient to allow each to follow his taste and select his field, provided only that he is actuated by a purpose to render to society a service which will be more than an equivalent for all that society has done for him.

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One who travels in foreign lands is likely to learn but little of the governments of the lands through which he passes, unless he makes a special effort to inform himself, for the lines of travel are laid through the communities where law and order are maintained and where the government is so stable that the casual observer has no occasion to investigate its inner workings. The mountains tower above him, and he sees them; the chasms yawn before him and he beholds them; and the various forms of agriculture leave a panoramic effect upon his memory. He frequently meets the merchant in his store, sees the laborer at his work quite often, and occasionally beholds a grandee in his carriage; but not being able to speak the language of the country he learns little about the forms of government and less about the political aspirations of the people; and yet the science of government is one of the most important sciences, and the "royal art," as it has been called, stands first among the arts. Tolstoy has declared that the science which teaches us how to live is the most important of sciences, and surely the science of government comes next. While it is true that an individual can by misbehavior forfeit the blessings of good government, or by good behavior minimize the evils of bad government—while it is true that no government, however good, can save a man from himself if he is determined to throw himself away, and that no government, however bad, can entirely deprive him of the rewards of virtue, yet governments may do much to encourage or to hinder the development of the people.

Governments may retard or advance the material growth of a country. For instance, our government is in part, at least, responsible for the unparalleled development of the United States, because it has given the largest encouragement to the individual. The Japanese government has in like manner stimulated education by the establishment of a public school system and has developed a large number of public men by the organization of a parliamentary system. Turkey, on the other hand, has blighted some of the fairest portions of the earth by suppressing political independence, by ignoring education, and by leaving the industrious citizen at the mercy of the marauder. There has been little political life in Turkey because few of the people have had the education necessary to take a broad survey of the country and its needs, while great stretches of fertile country lie uncultivated because the government is so indifferent to the rights of the people that the tiller of the soil has no assurance that he will be allowed to harvest the crop which he plants. Those who have investigated the subject contend that the valley of the Jordan would be a fruitful region if protection were given to those who would cultivate it, but because the Bedouin has been allowed to come down from the hillside and reap where he has not sown, the land is neglected.

In a trip around the globe one sees in actual working every form of government known to man. In Russia, an unlimited monarchy until recently laid its oppressive hand upon more than a hundred millions of human beings. They held their lives, their liberty and their property at the will of the ruler. Any citizen in the czar's vast domains could be taken from his home and exiled for life without his or his family knowing the cause of his punishment. The royal family and the officeholders held the people in contempt and denied even the natural rights of men. The people were taught to be thankful for any favors, however small, that the "Little Father" saw fit to bestow, and they were likewise taught that it was dangerous to complain even when the most fundamental right was ignored. Now there is a duma, and the duma as an institution still lives. No one can predict through what trials and tribulations the country may yet pass, but constitutional government will yet be hers. As in the winter time we cannot foresee or foretell what days will be pleasant and what days stormy, but do know that in a few months we shall have summer, so without being able to determine through what tumults or riots or revolutions Russia must pass, we know that in a few years she will have a stable government in which her people will have a voice.

In Japan the government is somewhat mixed in its form. She has a parliament, but the executive branch of the government is not yet in the hands of the people. The tendency in Japan, as everywhere, is toward further limitation of the power of the sovereign and further enlargement of the power of the people. The vital political question there now is whether the emperor shall select his advisers from among his personal friends or from the members of the party which dominates the parliament. There is, of course, no doubt of the ultimate triumph of the parliamentary party. Denmark witnessed a similar struggle which lasted for nearly a generation and terminated, as such struggles always do, in the triumph of the parliament.

In China they have a mixture of monarchy and aristocracy. The monarch is unlimited in his power, but he is so hedged about by the aristocracy that he really has very little independence. Like some of the native princes who rule under Dutch regents, the Chinese ruler is the servant rather than the master of his officials. Living in the forbidden city and meeting personally but few of his people, he is quite dependent upon the mandarins. The aristocracy of China is not an aristocracy of birth or of wealth, but a civil service aristocracy. While positions are often bought—sometimes even sold at auction when the emperor needs money—yet, as a rule, the civil servants of China are selected by examination. These systems, while so antiquated that they have been recently very materially modified, were intended to be fair as between applicants. The course of study was not comprehensive, and the tests applied gave but little idea of one's fitness for office. These men, once in power, were the rulers in all local affairs, and the higher officials were influential in all matters of state, and yet, in spite of this system—or because of it, whichever the reader will have it—China slumbered while the nations around awakened. The fact that the appointees to the civil service had to go through certain routine examinations prescribed by those who had already passed through the same routine, kept the service in a rut, and as it was not necessary that the appointees should be interested in anyone but themselves, they showed no concern about the people from whom they drew their salaries. It was a system calculated to develop the selfishness which seemed an inherent part of Chinese life and philosophy. Now that the school examinations have been substituted for the civil service examinations an improvement may be expected in the service, but even the modified system will not keep the servant in touch with those whom he serves.

In Europe the constitutional monarchy has undergone a constant development until in many countries the king is but a figurehead. In England the sovereign would not think of vetoing a bill passed by the legislative body, and the House of Lords seldom vetoes a bill passed by the House of Commons. The prime minister is a much more potent factor in government than the king himself. In Norway the government is brought even nearer to the people by the substitution of one legislative body for two, that body being elected by the people under universal suffrage. The king of Norway is even less likely to attempt to obstruct the will of parliament than the king of England. Norway has reduced monarchy to a minimum and placed the government in the hands of the voters to do with it as they please.

In Switzerland the republican form of government has stood the test of experiment. In the absence of pomp, ceremony and official extravagance the government of Switzerland is not surpassed, if equaled, by the government of any similar population in the world. Three languages are spoken within her borders and used in parliamentary proceedings. Part of her people are Protestant, part Catholic and part Jew, and yet, with the initiative and the referendum in both the federal government and the cantons, the government rests so securely upon popular will that the people live together in entire harmony and could resist a much larger population attacking from without.

The colonial system also comes under one's observation in a trip around the world. The Netherlands have large colonial possessions in the Malay archipelago, but they have been compelled to abandon the culture system—a form of slavery—and there are signs of a political development which will some day make it necessary for Holland to consult the wishes of the people more than she has in the past.

I have already spoken of both India and Egypt in other articles, and I only refer to the subject here in order to draw a contrast between colonialism as applied to Canada and colonialism as it is seen in India. In Canada the people have as complete self-government as they have in England, the governor-general being as little likely to use the veto power as the king himself. In India, on the other hand, the natives are not consulted in regard to the general government. Taxes are levied and collected, armies are raised, fed and directed without regard to the wishes of the native population. They have experienced all of the evils that can come from a colonial system administered by a trading company, and they have had a chance to learn that a colonial system, even when administered in such a way as to command the admiration of those who believe in colonialism, still falls far short of self-government. I have already said that we have treated the Filipinos better than England has treated the people of India, but that we have done so at an enormous expense to our country. It would be better for the Filipinos and better for us to recognize their right to self-government and independence.

After one has had a chance to see monarchies, limited and unlimited, aristocracies based upon birth and aristocracies based upon a merit system; and after one has had a chance to compare these systems with the republican form of government, he is ready to declare that from every standpoint that government is best which rests upon the consent of the governed. Some have insisted that a monarchy is stronger because all of the power of the government can be concentrated quickly and made effective at once, but this advantage is small when compared with the advantages to be derived from a government which the people support with enthusiasm. The historian, Bancroft, rightly declares that a republic ought to be the strongest of all governments because, "discarding the implements of terror, it dares to build its citadel in the hearts of men."

A republic which is, not merely in theory but in fact, "a government of the people, by the people and for the people," is the most enduring of governments. It is strong because it is loved and loved because it is good.

Aristocracies are defended by their advocates on the ground that a few are wiser than the many, but this is not true, whether it is an aristocracy of birth or of learning, for as the whole is greater than any of its parts, so a democracy must be wiser than an aristocracy because it can draw upon the wisdom of all. The old saying, that "everybody knows more than anybody," is founded upon reason and experience, but there is another reason why a democracy is better than an aristocracy, namely, that the interests of the whole people are safer in the hands of the people themselves than in the hands of any element which assumes to speak for the people. The faults of free government have been found to be, not in the people themselves, but in those who, selected to represent them, betray their trust. If the representatives of the people whom the people themselves select are sometimes unfaithful to their trust, what must be expected of those who assume to act without being selected by the people?

In aristocracies resting upon birth the very fact that the rulers regard themselves as superior to the masses makes it difficult for them to view questions from the standpoint of the people at large. Whatever the form of the government, there will always be, as Jefferson declared, two parties, one tending toward democracy and the other tending toward aristocracy. Those who have faith in the people are constantly trying to make the government more and more responsive to the will of the people; those who distrust the people are constantly endeavoring to increase the distance between the citizen and his representative. In a republic there are some who emphasize the virtues of the people and others who emphasize the virtues of the representative. Some insist that the people should think for themselves and elect representatives to give expression to the public will; others insist that the representatives should be so superior to the masses as to be able to do the thinking for the people.

In the early history of this country Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton represented these two ideas. Jefferson not only believed that the people should think for themselves and should elect their representatives, but he believed in short terms and frequent elections in order that the citizens might more effectively control their public servants. Hamilton, on the other hand, believed in a strong centralized government in which the officials should be removed as far as possible from the voter. His plan of government, carefully prepared and presented at the time of the formation of the constitution, provided for a president and senators elected for life or during good behavior, and for governors of the several states appointed by the general government for life or during good behavior. No one would propose such a plan at this time, so great has been the advance toward democracy. This growth is indicated by the fact that the national house of representatives has four times declared in favor of the election of the United States senators by direct vote of the people and by the further fact that more than two-thirds of the states of the union have by legislative action declared in favor of this change. The unpopularity of the latter part of Hamilton's plan, namely, the appointment of governors by the general government, is shown by the fact that territorial government under which the governors are appointed by the president, not for life, but for a few years, is deemed unsatisfactory. The people of a territory are always wanting statehood, and the main reason is that they desire to elect their own officials.

The democratic idea is growing—the term is not used in a partisan sense, but in that broader sense in which it describes government by the people. There is not a civilized nation in which the idea of popular government is not growing, and in all the semi-civilized nations there are reformers who are urging an extension of the influence of the people in government. So universal is this growth of democratic ideas that there can be no doubt of their final triumph. Monarchies, at first unlimited, are now limited, and limited monarchies are recognizing more and more the right of the people to a voice in their own government. Monarchies and aristocracies tend toward democracy, and republics tend to become more and more democratic in their forms and methods.

When the seed, planted in the earth, sends forth the tender leaf and then the stalk; when the grain appears upon the stalk and supplies the bread necessary for the support of our bodies, we know that there is back of the seed a force irresistible and constantly working. As irresistible and as ceaseless in its activity is the force behind political and moral truth. The advocates of the American theory of government can, therefore, labor with the confident assurance that the principles planted upon American soil a century and a quarter ago are destined to grow here and everywhere until arbitrary power will nowhere be known, and, until the voice of the people shall be recognized, if not as the voice of God, at least, as Bancroft defines it, as the best expression of the divine will to be found upon the earth.

In republics, as in other forms of government, there will at times be disturbances, but these come from a failure to recognize and respect the current of public opinion. If we stand by the side of a stream and watch it glide past us, we can in safety listen to the song of the waters, but if we attempt to dam the stream we find the water rising above the dam. If we make the dam higher still, the water rises still more, and at last the force in the obstructed water is so great that no dam made by human hands can longer stay it. Sometimes, when the dam is washed away, damage is done to those who live in the valley below, but the fault is not in the stream, but in those who attempt to obstruct it. So in human society there is a current of public opinion which flows ever onward. If left to have its way it does not harm anyone, but if obstructed, this current may become a menace. At last the obstruction must yield to the force of the current. In monarchies and aristocracies the dam is sometimes built so high that it is removed by force, but in republics the ballot can be relied upon to keep the channel of the stream open, or if obstruction is attempted, to remove it while yet it can be removed with safety. The advantage of a republic is that the people, through their representatives, are able to give public opinion free play, and the more democratic a republic is, the more nearly does it conform to the wishes of the people.

No one can study the governments of the old world without a feeling of gratitude that in the new world the science of government has been carried to its highest point, and we of the United States can rejoice that our nation leads the world in recognizing the right of the people to devise and to direct the government under which they are to work out their destiny.

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An American feels at home in England just now, for he constantly reads in the newspapers and hears on the streets the tariff arguments so familiar in the United States. I can almost imagine myself in the midst of a presidential campaign, with import duties as the only issue. I have been especially fortunate in arriving here at the very height of the discussion and I have been privileged to hear the best speakers on both sides. Hon. Joseph Chamberlain, late secretary for the colonies, left the cabinet some three months ago in order to present to the country the tariff policy which he believed to be necessary. Not desiring to make the government responsible for the proposition put forth by him, he turned his official duties over to another and has been conducting one of the most remarkable campaigns that England has seen in recent years.

He enters the fight with a number of things to his credit. He is a great orator, he is pleasing in manner, experienced in debate, skillful in the arraignment of his adversaries, and possesses the faculty of so holding the attention of his hearers as to make them eager to catch the next sentence. He is not an impassioned speaker, he has no grand climaxes that overwhelm an audience, but he does have what his friends call a "restrained eloquence" that leaves the impression that he never quite reaches the limit of his powers. He is a man who would rank high in any land and as an antagonist he would not fear to meet the best on any platform.

He is about five feet nine or ten inches in height and weighs about 175 pounds. He wears no beard and is impressive in appearance. The cartoonists take liberties with him as with other public men, and I may say in passing that there are some newspaper cartoonists over here who do excellent work.

Mr. Chamberlain is urging a departure from the free trade policy which England has followed for fifty years, and he defends his position on three grounds:

First—That it is needed for the protection of English manufacturers and English laborers.

Second—That it is necessary for the defense and strengthening of the empire.

Third—That a tariff can be used when necessary as a retaliatory weapon to make a breach in the tariff walls that other nations have erected.

In presenting the first proposition he employs the usual protectionist arguments. He appeals to particular industries and promises better wages to labor and more constant employment. He complains that foreign products are being "dumped" in England. The foreigner is accused of selling his surplus wares here without profit or below cost while he sells for enough at home to enable him to carry on his business.

I heard Mr. Chamberlain's speech at Cardiff, the chief city of Wales. It was an audience largely made up of wage-earners, and his appeals were adroit and elicited an enthusiastic response. He dwelt at length on the tin industry; figured the growth of the industry from 1882 to 1892 and showed that during the next decade the tin industry had suffered by the establishment of tin plate mills in the United States.

He assumed that if the English government had been authorized to make reciprocal treaties it might have persuaded the United States to forego the protection of tin plate in exchange for trade advantages in some other direction. He estimated the loss that had come to Welsh workmen because of the lessened demand for their tin plate, and he contended that it was necessary to give preferential treatment to the colonies in order to increase or even to hold their attachment to the empire.

In discussing retaliation, he seemed to assume what the protectionists of the United States have often declared, namely, that the foreigner pays the tax; and his argument was that England ought to tax the goods coming in from other countries if other countries taxed goods imported from England. He has coined phrases that are going the rounds of the press, the most popular of which is embodied in the question, "If another nation strikes you with a tariff tax, are you going to take it lying down?" This phrase aroused a spirit of pugnacity at Cardiff and was enthusiastically applauded.

In presenting the claims of the empire, Mr. Chamberlain occupies much the same position as the American protectionist who contends that a tariff wall makes our own country independent of other nations. In presenting this argument the late colonial secretary has the advantage of the great popularity which he won during the South African war, the spirit of empire being just now quite strong in England.

So much for the leader of the tariff reform movement, for, strange as it may seem, the English crusade for the adoption of a tariff is being conducted through the Tariff Reform League, which, with Mr. Chamberlain's endorsement, is asking for a campaign fund of $500,000.

On the other side are, first, the conservatism that supports the settled policy of half a century; second, the political and economic arguments which weigh against a protective tariff, and, third, the ability and personal influence of the men who are arrayed against Mr. Chamberlain. I have attended a number of meetings of the opposition. The first was at St. Neots, Huntingtonshire, where I heard Mr. H. H. Asquith, one of the Liberal leaders in parliament. He is of about the same height as Mr. Chamberlain, but heavier, his face and shoulders being considerably broader. Mr. Asquith differs very materially from Mr. Chamberlain in his style of oratory, but is a master in his line. His is more the argument of the lawyer. He is more logical and a closer reasoner. He is regarded as one of the ablest public men in England, and after listening to him for an hour I could easily believe his reputation to be well earned.

While he discussed with thoroughness all phases of the fiscal question, I was most impressed with his reply to what may be called the imperial part of Mr. Chamberlain's argument. He insisted that preferential duties would weaken instead of strengthen the bonds that unite England to her colonies, because partiality could not be shown to one industry without discrimination against the other industries, and he warned the advocates of protection not to divide the people of the colonies and the people of the home country into warring factions, and suggested that when these factions were arrayed against each other in a contest for legislative advantage, the harmony of the nation would be disturbed and ill-will between the various sections, elements and industries engendered.

At a house dinner of the National Liberal club in London I heard another member of parliament, Mr. R. S. Robson, a Liberal, who took retaliation for his subject. Mr. Robson presented a clear, comprehensive and concise analysis of the policy of retaliation; the strongest points made by him being, first, that retaliation meant commercial war, and, second, that it contemplated a permanent policy of protection. He pointed out that no country had ever aimed a retaliatory tariff at England; that tariffs in other countries were laid for domestic purposes and not out of antagonism to another country. He contended that other countries, instead of modifying their tariffs because of attempted retaliation on the part of England, would be more likely excited to an unfriendliness which they had not before shown, and that if England were the aggressor in such a tariff war she must necessarily be a large loser. He said that it was impossible to conceive of concessions being secured by a threat to raise a tariff wall in England. It would be necessary, he contended, if a retaliatory policy was undertaken to first impose a high tariff all around and then offer to reduce it in special cases. This would be a radical departure from the policy of free trade and would bring with it all the evils that had led to the abandonment of a protective policy under the leadership of Cobden.

Besides the Liberal opposition, Mr. Chamberlain has to meet the antagonism of a number of influential leaders who would indorse Mr. Balfour if he only proposed retaliation in a particular case where an open and grievous blow had been struck at England, but who are not willing to join Mr. Chamberlain in advocating a return to a protective policy.

I attended a great meeting held under the auspices of the Free Food League and heard speeches delivered by the Duke of Devonshire and Lord Goshen. I was told that the duke was the only English statesman who ever took a nap during the progress of his own speech. Thus forewarned, I was prepared for a season of rest, but the duke surprised his friends (and they are many) on this occasion and his speech has been the talk of the country. It was a powerful arraignment of the proposed tax on food, and, taking into consideration the high standing and great prestige of the duke, will exert a widespread influence on the decision of the controversy. The duke is a tall, strongly built man, with a long head and full sandy beard sprinkled with gray. He speaks with deliberation and emphasis, but lacks the graces of the other orators whom I had an opportunity to hear. If, however, ease and grace were wanting, the tremendous effectiveness of the pile driver and the battering ram make up for them.

He denounced the proposition to put a tax upon the people's food as a blow to the welfare and greatness of the nation. He scouted the idea that the tax would not ultimately extend to all food or that it would not raise the price of food and showed that the increase in the cost of food and clothing would take from the laboring man any advantage which Mr. Chamberlain promised to bring by his protective policy.

At the Free Food meeting the duke was followed by Lord Goshen, a conspicuous leader of the unionist party. Though now about seventy years old, he possesses great vitality and entered into the discussion with an earnestness that bespeaks the extraordinary power of the man. In appearance he reminded me of Gladstone and of Paul Kruger. I should say that his face had some of the characteristics of both—rugged in its outlines and giving an impression of courage and strength combined with great intellect. He replied to Mr. Chamberlain's challenge, "Will you take it lying down?" with the question, "Will you hide behind a wall?" He denied that it was necessary for the Briton to build a barricade and conceal himself behind it.

In reply to the argument that the Englishman needed protection from the foreigner, he gave statistics to show that Germany, one of the protected countries to which Mr. Chamberlain constantly refers, had an increasing number of the unemployed. His reference to the increased consumption of horse meat in Germany and the decrease in the consumption of other kinds of meat met with a response that seems likely to make "No horse meat" a slogan in the campaign.

The last meeting which I attended was that at which Lord Rosebery made his reply to Mr. Chamberlain. Lord Rosebery meets Mr. Chamberlain on an equal footing. He is about the same height, but a trifle stouter. He is an orator of great distinction, graceful, polished, of wide learning and great experience, and he possesses a wit that enables him to keep his audience in constant good humor. He has been prime minister and enjoys great popularity. His reception at the Surrey theatre, South London, was as cordial as Mr. Chamberlain's reception at Cardiff. With all the arts of the orator he repelled the attacks of Mr. Chamberlain and arraigned the policy of the conservatives. He denied that there was any excuse, to use his words, for the "lamentations of the modern Jeremiah." His lordship declared that the country had made great progress under the policy of free commerce with the world and that England had the world for her granary and depicted the possible consequences if she attempted to wage war against those who furnished her bread and meat.

He declared that the colonies could not supply the food that the people of England needed, but called Mr. Chamberlain's attention to the fact that Canada was "dumping" more iron into England than any of the protected countries complained of. He arraigned the conservative government's large and increasing expenditures and suggested that the government might better lessen the taxes upon the people than impose new taxes upon their food and clothing.

He closed with an appeal for more technical instruction; for a better understanding of the needs of their customers, and for a more earnest effort for the physical, intellectual and moral advancement of the people.

I will not attempt to predict the outcome of this fiscal controversy. I have missed my guess on a similar controversy in the United States and I shall not venture a prophecy in a foreign land. Mr. Chamberlain's opponents believe that a return to protection would be taken as renunciation of England's ambition to be "mistress of the seas," and that it would presage commercial isolation. It is a battle of giants over a great question and all the world is interested in the result.

Note—Since the writing of the above the Liberal party has won an overwhelming victory and Chamberlain's policy has been overthrown.

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November 29th was spent in Dublin, the 30th at Belfast and en route to that city from Dublin. Dublin is a very substantial looking city and much more ancient in appearance than Belfast, the latter reminding one more of an enterprising American city. We did not have a chance to visit any of the industries of Dublin, and only a linen factory and a shipyard in Belfast, but as the linen factory, the York Street Linen Mills, was one of the largest in Ireland, and the shipyard, Harland & Wolff's, the largest in the world, they gave some idea of the industrial possibilities of the island.

The lord mayor of Belfast, Sir Daniel Dixon, gave us a history of the municipal undertakings and extended to us every possible courtesy. To one accustomed to the farms of the Mississippi and the Missouri valleys, the little farms of Ireland seem contracted indeed, but what they lack in size they make up in thoroughness of cultivation. Not a foot seemed to be wasted. At Birmingham I saw some Kerry cows, which I can best describe as pony cattle, that they told me were being bred in Ireland in preference to the larger breeds; they are certainly more in keeping with the size of the farms. The farm houses are not large, but from the railroad train they looked neat and well kept.

My visit to Ireland was too brief to enable me to look into the condition of the tenants in the various parts of the island, but by the courtesy of the lord mayor of Dublin, Mr. Timothy Harrington, and Mr. John Dillon, both members of parliament, I met a number of the prominent representatives of Ireland in national politics. A luncheon at the Mansion House was attended by some 75 of the Irish leaders, including Archbishop Walsh, John Redmond, John Dillon, Michael Davitt, William Field, Patrick O'Brien, several members of the city council, ex-Mayor Valentine Dillon, High Sheriff Thomas Powers, and Drs. McArdle and Cox, and other persons distinguished in various walks of life.

The dinner at Mr. Dillon's gave me a chance to meet Mr. Bailey of the new land commission, and Mr. Finucane, lately connected with the Indian department, and to become better acquainted with the more prominent of the Irish leaders whose names have become familiar to American readers, and whom I met at luncheon.

Archbishop Walsh is one of the best known and most beloved of the Irish clergy, and he endeared himself to the friends of bimetallism throughout the world by the pamphlet which he wrote some years ago, setting forth the effect of the gold standard upon the Irish tenant farmer. It was a genuine pleasure to make his personal acquaintance. It may be added, in passing, that the tenants of Ireland will be more than ever interested in the stable dollar when they have secured title to their lands and assumed the payments which extend over more than sixty years. Any increase in the value of the dollar would increase the burden of these payments by lessening the price which they would obtain for the products of the soil.

Mr. John Redmond is the leader of the Irish party in parliament, and, having visited the United States, is personally known to many of our people. He has the appearance of a well-to-do lawyer, is quick to catch a point, ready of speech and immensely popular with his people. He has the reputation of being one of the most forcible of the Irish orators, and I regret that I had no opportunity of hearing him speak.

Mr. Dillon is a tall man, probably six feet one, with a scholarly face and wears a beard. His long experience in parliament, his thorough knowledge of the issues of the last quarter of a century, and his fidelity to the interests of the people of his land have given him a deservedly high place among the great Irishmen of the present generation.

Mr. Michael Davitt has also had a conspicuous career, but is not now in parliament, having resigned as a protest against the Boer war. He is the oldest of the group and shows in his countenance the fighting qualities that have made his name known throughout the world. He is not a diplomat—he has not learned the language of the court. He is not a compromiser, but a combatant, and his blows have been telling ones.

The lord mayor of Dublin, Mr. Timothy Harrington, has been honored with a third election as lord mayor, a position first held by Daniel O'Connell, but he is always at Westminster whenever there is an important vote in parliament. He is a typical Irishman, good-natured, full of humor, well informed and a natural politician.

At a dinner given a few days later at the National Liberal club in London by Mr. T. P. O'Connor, I met several other Irish members, among them Mr. William Redmond, brother of the leader of the Irish party, and himself a man of great ability and long parliamentary experience, and James Devlin, one of the most brilliant of the orators of the younger generation. The oldest person at the O'Connor dinner was Mr. O'Brien, the last Irishman who enjoyed the distinction of being sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered. The host, Mr. O'Connor, while he represents a Liverpool constituency and is not, therefore, technically speaking, a member of the Irish party, is one of the most prominent and influential of the Irishmen in the house of commons. He has lectured in the United States as well as in Europe, and is now editor of two weekly papers of large circulation. He showed his friendliness toward America and his appreciation of our country's resources by taking unto himself an American wife—a beautiful Texan.

At Glasgow I met another member of parliament, Mr. William McKillup, who, though a citizen of Glasgow, represents an Irish district and takes an active interest in everything that affects the Emerald isle.

Mr. Harrington and Mr. Redmond took me to the Dublin cemetery and we visited the graves of O'Connell and Parnell. The tomb of Ireland's great agitator is under a massive pile of granite, made to represent an old Irish tower. No monument has yet been erected to Parnell. The memory of the two dead statesmen and the presence of the living leaders recalled the struggle to which so many of Ireland's sons have devoted their lives, and it was a matter of extreme gratification to find that substantial progress is being made.

It is true that home rule has not yet been secured, but the contest for home rule has focused attention upon the industrial and political condition of Erin, and a number of remedial measures have been adopted. First, the tenant was given title to his improvements and then the amount of the rent was judicially determined. More recently the authorities have been building cottages for the rural laborers. Over 15,000 of these cottages have been already erected and arrangements are being made for some 19,000 more. These are much more comfortable than the former dwellings, and much safer from a sanitary point of view. The recent land purchase act, which went into effect on November 1, seems likely to exert a very great influence upon the condition of the people. According to its terms the government is to buy the land of the landlord and sell it to the tenants. As the government can borrow money at a lower rate than the ordinary borrower, it is able to give the tenant much better terms than he gets from his present landlord, and at the same time purchase the land of the landlord at a price that is equitable. The landlords are showing a disposition to comply with the spirit of the law, although some of them are attempting to get a larger price for their land than it was worth prior to the passage of the law. The purpose of the law is to remove from politics the landlord question, which has been a delicate one to deal with. Most of the larger estates were given to the ancestors of the present holders and many of the owners live in England and collect their rents through a local agent. The new law makes the government the landlord; and the tenant, by paying a certain annual sum for 63 years, becomes the owner of the fee. He has the privilege of paying all or any part, at any time, and can dispose of his interest. The settlement which is now being effected not only removes the friction which has existed between the tenant and the landlord, but puts the tenant in a position where he can appeal to the government with reasonable certainty of redress in case unforeseen circumstances make his lot harder than at present anticipated. The assurance that he will become the owner of the fee will give to the Irish farmer an ambition that has heretofore been wanting, for he will be able to save without fear of an increase in the rent. Not only is the land question in process of settlement, but there have been at the same time other improvements which make for the permanent progress of the people. There is a constant increase in educational facilities, and a large number of co-operative banks have been established. Agricultural societies have been formed for the improvement of crops and stock, and the trend is distinctly upward. The Irish leaders have not obtained all that they labored for—there is much to be secured before their work is complete, but when the history of Ireland is written, the leaders now living will be able to regard with justifiable pride the results of their devotion and sacrifice and their names will be added to the long list of Irish patriots and statesmen.

In Dublin I paid my respects to Lord Dudley, lieutenant governor of Ireland, whose residence, the Viceregal Lodge, is in Phoenix Park, and found him so genial and affable a host that I am led to hope that in his administration of the executive branch of the government he will make the same attempt at just treatment that parliament has made in the enactment of the recent land measure.

There is a general desire among the leaders of thought in Ireland to check the emigration from that country. They feel that Ireland under fair conditions can support a much larger population than she now has. Ireland, they say, has been drained of many of its most enterprising and vigorous sons and daughters. It is hardly probable that the steps already taken will entirely check the movement toward the United States, but there is no doubt that the inhabitants of Ireland and their friends across the water contemplate the future with brighter hopes and anticipations than they have for a century.

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Carved in the mantel of the library which adjoins the reception room of the lord provost of Glasgow is the motto, "Truth will prevail," and the triumph of truth is illustrated in the development of municipal ownership in the British Isles.

Probably no city in the world has extended the sphere of municipal activity further than the metropolis of Scotland—Glasgow. By the courtesy of the present lord provost, Sir James Ure Primrose, I learned something of the manner in which the city of Glasgow is administering the work that in most of our American cities has been left to private corporations. It goes without saying that Glasgow owns and operates its water system, for that is usually the first public work upon which a city enters. In this case, however, the water instead of being furnished to the citizens at so much per thousand gallons or at fixed hydrant rates, is paid for by a tax upon the value of the property. The city's water supply is brought from Lake Katrine, forty miles away, and a second pipe line has recently been laid to the lake.

Glasgow also owns the gas plant and furnishes gas to consumers at about 50 cents per thousand cubic feet. More recently the city has entered upon the work of supplying electricity, both to the city and to private houses. The tramways, too, are owned and operated by the municipality. The service is excellent and the fare depends upon the distance traveled, 2d (4 cents) being the rate for a long ride and 1d (2 cents) for shorter distances. At certain hours in the day there are work trams that carry the laboring man from one end of the city to the other for ¹⁄₂d or 1 cent. The lord provost informed me that it was the settled policy of the city to use all the income from public service corporations in improving the service and lessening the charge. In some places the surplus, as will be shown hereafter, is turned into the city fund and to that extent lessens the taxes (or rates as city taxes are called in Great Britain). The municipal authorities in Glasgow have, from the beginning, opposed this form of indirect taxation and insisted that the service should be rendered to the public at absolute cost, leaving the people to support the city government by direct taxation.

Not only does Glasgow furnish water, gas, electricity and street car service to its people at cost, but it has undertaken other work still further in advance of American cities. It has built a number of model tenement houses for the poor and rents them at something less than the rate private individuals charge for similar quarters. These buildings have had for their primary object the improvement of the sanitary condition of the city. Slums in which disease was rife have been bought, cleansed and built up, with the result that the death rate has been reduced in those localities. These tenement houses are rented by the week or month and the charge for those that I visited was about $36 per year, this covering taxes and water. The rooms are commodious and well lighted and each suite contains a cooking range fitted into the chimney place.

The city has also established a number of lodging houses for single men and here lodgings can be obtained ranging from 3¹⁄₂d (7 cents) to 4¹⁄₂d (9 cents) per night. The lodger has the privilege, and most of them take advantage of it, of cooking his meals in a large kitchen connected with the building, and also has the use of the dining room and reading room. One lodging house is set apart for widowers with children and is, I am informed, the only one of its kind in the world. About one hundred families, including in all 300 persons, have rooms here. Attendants are on duty to look after the children during the day while the fathers are at work, and meals are furnished to such as desire at a minimum rate.

The reading public is already familiar with the public baths which have for a number of years been in operation in Glasgow, and to these baths have been added public washhouses where women can bring the family linen and at the rate of 2d per hour make use of the tubs and drying room. I visited one of these wash-rooms and found that the number of people taking advantage of it during the first year was, in round numbers, 33,000, in the second year 34,000, in the third year 35,000, and in the fourth year 37,000.

London is also making progress in the work of municipalizing its public service. The city proper covers a very small territory; in fact, but a mile square, the greater part of the city being under the control of what is called the London county council. The London city council has recently obtained from parliament the right to deal with the water problem and a commission has been created for this purpose and is now at work appraising the value of the different water companies which are to be taken over by the said council. The enormous price demanded by these companies gives overwhelming proof of London's folly in having so long delayed the undertaking of this public work. As there are no surface street cars in the city of London, the city council has not had the tramway question to deal with. The London county council has moved much more rapidly than the city council, and I am indebted to Mr. John Burns, M. P., also councilman for the district of Battersea, for much valuable information on this subject, he and Mr. A. J. Shepheard, with whom I crossed the ocean, being kind enough to introduce me to the members of the county council and to place before me the statistics in possession of the officials. The county council, besides taking over the water service, is also furnishing to some extent electricity. Just now the county council is putting down tramways and preparing to follow in the footsteps of Glasgow in the matter of furnishing transit for its citizens. Like Glasgow, the county council is also furnishing lodging houses for the poorer classes and by so doing is improving the sanitary conditions of the city. In some portions the council is erecting tenement houses; here, as in Glasgow, the council selected the worst portions of the city and substituting modern and well-equipped houses for the unsightly and unhealthy tenement houses that formerly occupied the ground. Mr. Burns took me through one of these sections where about four thousand people are being provided with homes with every modern improvement and at very low rental. Finding that the death rate among the children of the poor was alarmingly great, the county council established a sterilized milk station and the death rate among the children has been very materially decreased.

Nottingham, England, was visited on the invitation of Mr. A. W. Black, until recently mayor. I became acquainted with him on the passage across the Atlantic, and found that he had interested himself in the work of extending the municipal control of public utilities. From him and the town clerk, Sir Samuel Johnson, I learned that the city had been furnishing water to its citizens for about thirty years and gas for a still longer time. The price of gas has been reduced from time to time until it is now about 50 cents per thousand for private citizens, and even at this low rate the gas plant pays into the city treasury a net profit of about $120,000 a year. It is only about five years since the city entered upon the work of furnishing electricity, but the profit from that source is now nearly $45,000 annually. The city has recently taken over the tramways, and notwithstanding that it has raised the wages of the employes, shortened their hours of labor, improved the service, extended the lines and reduced the fares, it has now derived about $90,000 profit from the earnings of the tramways. This has been the rule wherever private services have been undertaken by the municipalities. Nottingham has a population of about 250,000.

I have taken these cities as an illustration, they being the ones concerning which I have investigated most carefully.

Birmingham furnishes water and light to its people, and has just decided to take charge of the tramway service. It already owns the tracks, but has been allowing private corporations to run the cars. The people have decided to operate the lines in the future.

In Belfast I found that the city had decided to take charge of the tramway tracks, the only disputed question being whether the city would pledge itself to the permanent operation of the lines, or reserve the right to permit private corporations to use the tracks.

Nothing has impressed me more in my visit to the British Isles than the interest which the leading citizens of the various municipalities are taking in problems of government and sociology. It must be remembered that here the members of the city councils receive no pay. The work they do is entirely gratuitous, and I have found that the councils are composed of representatives of all classes of society.

Many of the successful business men, professional men and educators are to be found devoting a portion of their time, sometimes a very considerable portion, to the work of the city. They attend meetings, serve on committees and carry on investigations, and find their recompense not in a salary, but in the honor which attaches to the position and in the consciousness that they are giving something of value to their fellows.

The fact that English cities are doing the work that in American cities is largely let out to private corporations, may explain the relative absence of corruption as compared with some of our American cities, but there is no doubt that among the people generally, service in the city government is more highly regarded than it is in most of the large cities of the United States.

I observed with interest the enthusiasm manifested by the officials in the work being done by the respective cities. At Birmingham, Mr. Roland H. Barkley, a member of the city council, by request of the lord mayor called upon me, and not only showed great familiarity with the work of the city government, but manifested an intense desire to secure for his city the methods that had been shown by experience to be the best.

Mr. Black, recently mayor of Nottingham, is a very successful lace manufacturer, and yet he seemed as much concerned about the affairs of the city as about the details of his own business. Lord Mayor Harrington of Dublin, Lord Mayor Dixon of Belfast and Lord Provost Primrose of Glasgow were all alive to the importance of their work, and seemed to make the discharge of their duties their chief concern.

In this connection, I desire to record my appreciation of the public service of one of the most interesting and agreeable men whom I have met in the Old World, Mr. John Burns. He began his industrial life at the age of ten as a maker of candles. He was afterward apprenticed as a machinist, and after acquiring proficiency in his trade followed that line of employment until his associates made him their representative in the city government. He was soon afterwards sent to parliament, and has for some fifteen years represented his district in both bodies. He is only 45, but his hair and beard are so streaked with gray that one would think him ten years older. He is a little below medium height, strongly built and very active and energetic. A diligent student, quick-witted and effective in speech, it is not surprising that he stands today among the world's foremost representatives of the wage-earners. He is opposed to both drinking and gambling. He receives no salary, either as a member of the county council or as a member of parliament, but is supported by his association, which pays him what is equivalent to a thousand dollars a year. With this very meager income he devotes his life to public work, and I have not met a more conscientious or unselfish public servant, and yet what Mr. Burns is doing on a large scale many others are doing in a lesser degree.

I wish that all the citizens of my country could come into contact with the public men whom I have met, and catch something of the earnestness with which they are applying themselves to the solution of the municipal problems that press upon the present generation. It would certainly increase the velocity of American reforms, and arouse that latent patriotism which only needs arousing to cope successfully with all difficulties.

While it may seem that the leaders of municipal government in Europe are somewhat altruistic in their labors, there is a broader sense in which they are quite selfish, but it is that laudable selfishness which manifests itself in one's desire to lift himself up, not by dragging down others or doing injustice to others but by lifting up the level upon which all stand. Those who add to the comfort and happiness of their community are making their own lives and property more secure. Those who are endeavoring to infuse hope and ambition into the hearts of the hopeless and their children are working more wisely than those who are so short-sighted as to believe that the accumulation of money is the only object of life.

Let us hope that the time is near at hand when the successful business men in the United States, instead of continuing their accumulations to the very end of life, will be satisfied with a competency and, when this is secured, give to the country the benefit of their experience, their intelligence and their conscience, as many of the business men of England, Scotland and Ireland are now doing.

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My call upon President Loubet was the most interesting incident of my visit to France. It was arranged by General Horace Porter, American ambassador to France, who conducted us to the Elysee palace, which is the White House of the French republic.

President Loubet is probably the most democratic executive that France has ever had. He reminded me of our former president, Benjamin Harrison, and of another of our distinguished citizens, Andrew Carnegie—not exactly like either, but resembling both—the former in appearance, the latter in manner as well as appearance.

President Loubet is below the medium height, even of Frenchmen. His shoulders are broad and his frame indicative of great physical strength. His hair is snow white, as are also his beard and mustache. He wears his beard cut square at the chin.

His eyes are dark blue, suggesting that his hair and beard were blonde before the years bleached them. His voice is soft, and he speaks with great vivacity, emphasizing his words by expressive gestures.

He received us in his working room, a beautiful semi-oval apartment, whose large windows open into the beautiful gardens attached to the Elysee palace. The oval end of the room bore great priceless Gobelin tapestry, depicting abundance. On a pedestal under the tapestry was a marble bust of the Minerva-like head of the Goddess of Liberty of the French republic.

The president's desk is a long, flat table, eminently business looking, covered with papers and lighted by two desk lamps and green shades. A huge electrolier dependent from the frescoed ceiling filled the room with light.

The president wore a frock coat, the tri-colored button of the Legion of Honor adorning the lapel.

President Loubet is a very cordial man, and takes pride in the fact that, like most of our American presidents, he has worked his way up from the ranks of the common people. His father was a farmer near the village of Montelimar.

Young Loubet studied law, and then public affairs. He has held nearly every office in the gift of the people. He began as mayor of Montelimar, where his aged mother still lives in the old farmhouse.

He was elected a deputy in 1876, and in 1886 was elected to the senate. He was minister of public works in 1887, and minister of the interior in 1892. In 1895 he was elected president of the senate, and in 1899 he was elected president of the republic.

He talked freely on various questions that came up for consideration, and showed himself to be thoroughly informed upon the economic as well as the political questions with which France has to deal. His personal popularity and strong good sense have been of inestimable value to his country in the trying times caused by the Dreyfus case.

President Loubet has been prominently connected with the bimetallic movement, and shows himself familiar with the principles upon which bimetallists rely in their defense of that system of finance.

The president, like all the Frenchmen whom I met, feels very friendly toward the United States, and it goes without saying that France under his administration is not likely to do anything at which our country can take just offense.

It was gratifying to me to hear him express so much good will, for it was evidence of the attachment which the French people feel toward those republican principles of government which they have established by so much struggle and sacrifice.

Municipal ownership has not made as much progress in France as in England, although most of the cities now own their water works, and some of them their lighting plants. The railroads are nearly all owned by private corporations, but they operate under charters running about 100 years, half of which time has now elapsed.

According to the charters, the government guaranteed a certain rate of interest on the investment, besides a certain contribution to the sinking fund, and at the end of the charter the roads become the property of the state.

Although it is nearly fifty years before the charters expire, the course to be adopted by the government is already being discussed, some insisting that the government should take over the roads and operate them—others favoring an arrangement that will continue private operation, although the government will be the owner of the property. The same difference of opinion to be found in our country is to be found here, and some of the high officials are strongly opposed to the government entering upon the operation of the roads.

President Loubet spoke with evident gratification of the general diffusion of wealth in France. He said that they had few men of large fortunes, but a great many men of moderate means, and he felt that the republic was to be congratulated upon the fact that the resources of the country are so largely in the hands of the people.

He explained that the government loans were taken by the people in small amounts and subscribed many times over. Very few of the bonds representing the French debt are held outside of France. The debt furnishes a sort of savings bank for the citizens, and their eagerness to invest in "rentes" (the government bonds) is proof of their patriotism as well as of their thrift.

I heard so much of the French peasant, that I devoted one day to a visit into the country. Going out some fifty miles from Paris I found a village of about eighty families. Selecting a representative peasant, I questioned him about the present condition and prospects of the French farmer. I found that about three-fourths of the peasants of that village owned their homes, but that only about one-fourth owned the farms they tilled.

I should explain that the French peasants do not as a rule live upon the farms, as is the custom in the United States. With us, whether a farmer owns forty acres or a quarter section, he usually lives upon the land, and the houses are therefore scattered at intervals over the country.

The French peasants, on the contrary, are inclined to gather in villages, most of them owning their houses and gardens, but going out into the country to cultivate their fields. Sometimes a peasant will have a vineyard in one direction from his home, a pasture in another, and a wheat field or beet field in yet another direction.

These fields are sometimes owned, but more often are rented. The landlord aims to get about 4 per cent annually on his investment. The tenant, however, pays the taxes, which sometimes amount to 1 or 2 per cent more.

The peasants complain that the horses which they need to cultivate their crops are made more expensive by the increased consumption of horse flesh as food, the demand having raised the price of horses.

The same cause has operated, so I was informed, to reduce the price of cattle. The widespread use of automobiles has lessened the price of straw in Paris, and this has been felt by the wheat growers.

I found the peasant with whom I talked to be an ardent protectionist. He spoke as if the farmers were driven to it as a last resort. As I was leaving he assured me that he was glad to speak to a "republican" and said he would not have talked to me at all if I had not been one.

This was an evidence of his loyalty to the existing régime in France and also gave additional proof of the fact that the republican party in the United States has an advantage in appealing to newly-arrived immigrants merely by reason of its name.

Foreigners are much better acquainted with the word "republic" than with the word "democracy," and I find that republican speakers have taken advantage of this fact and represented the republican party as the only exponent of the doctrines of a republic.

The New York Independent about a year ago printed the autobiography of a foreign born citizen, who presented the same idea and told of a republican speech in which this argument was made by the orator.

The birth rate in France scarcely exceeds the death rate, and to my surprise I found that the increase in the country was even less than in Paris, in proportion to the population. One Frenchman, apparently well informed, told me that there were small villages in which it was difficult to find a child.

In the village which I visited I was told that the families average two or three children. To show, however, that the small family was not the universal rule, attention was called to one family there in which there were eleven children.

The French peasant is a very industrious man, and cultivates his land with great care, and as soon as he saves a little money he tries to add to the area of his farm. The wife is usually an efficient helper, whether in the city or in the country. In the city she is often copartner with her husband in the store, and assists him to save.

Whether the tendency of the peasants to gather in villages, rather than to live each on his own farm, is due to their sociability or is a relic of the feudal system, I cannot say—both reasons were given.

The French peasant has reason to feel the burden of militarism, but the recollection of the last war with Germany is so fresh in his mind that he is not likely to make any vigorous protest as long as he believes a large army necessary for the protection of the republic.

The sentiment of the French people on this subject is shown by the fact that the figure representing Alsace-Lorraine in the group of statues in the beautiful Place de la Concorde is always covered with mourning wreaths.

I visited the Bank of France, where I was received by the governor, M. Georges Pallain. The bank's capital stock is about $40,000,000, and it pays a dividend of about 12 per cent, equal to about 4 per cent on the present market value of the stock. The deposits are much smaller in proportion to the capital than are the deposits of our large American banks. This is true of the Bank of England, and likewise of the banks of Mexico.

This smaller proportion between the deposits and the capital stock arrested my attention, because in the United States the proportion is sometimes so great as to leave little margin for shrinkage in the event of industrial disturbance. If a bank has loans amounting to ten times its capital stock, a shrinkage of one-tenth in the value of its assets would wipe out the capital.

The Bank of France, the Bank of England, and the leading banks of Mexico seem to be conducted on a more conservative basis. The Bank of England and the Bank of France differ largely in their note issues. The former has the right to issue uncovered notes to the extent of the bank's loan to the English government. Upon this loan the bank receives no interest, the note issue being considered an equivalent, as no reserve is required to be kept against these notes. The bank can also issue notes in addition to these, but I found to my surprise that this note issue is not profitable to the bank, since these notes are virtually gold certificates, the bank being required to keep on hand an equal amount of gold as a redemption fund.

The Bank of France has outstanding nearly $900,000,000 in notes, which is the paper money of the country. The bank has the option of redeeming these notes either in gold or silver, and it exercises that option by refusing to pay gold when gold becomes scarce, or when it seems undesirable to furnish gold for export.

It has recently refused gold, and those desiring to export that metal have had to purchase it at a slight premium.

The "gold contract," which has become so common in the United States, and which was used to terrorize the public in 1896, seems to be unknown in France; or at least I could find no one who knew anything about such contracts. They are regarded as contrary to public policy.

The president of the Bank of France is appointed by the government, so that the bank stands in a different attitude toward the government from the national banks of our country.

I had the pleasure of meeting a number of prominent Frenchmen during my visit to Paris, among them Senator Combes, the prime minister, who is just now a most conspicuous figure in the contest between the government and the various religious orders; Senator Clemenceau, one of the ablest editors in Paris, and a brilliant conversationalist; Baron d'Estonelles de Constant, a man of high ideals and leader of the peace movement in France; the Rev. Albert Kohler, author of "The Religion of Effort," and the Rev. Charles Wagner, whose book, "The Simple Life," has had such a large circulation in the United States.

The Rev. Mr. Wagner is just such a looking man as you would expect to write such a book—strong, rugged and earnest. He impresses one as a man with a mission, and although young in years, he has already made an impress upon the thought of the world. His book is a protest against the materialism which is making man the slave of his possessions.

The influence which Mr. Wagner has already exerted shows the power of a great thought, even when it must cross the boundaries of nations and pass through translation into many different tongues. I shall remember my communion with this apostle of simplicity as one remembers a visit to a refreshing spring.

Dr. Max Nordau, the famous author of "Degeneracy," although a German, lives in Paris. I enjoyed my call upon him very much. One quickly recognizes the alertness of his mind, his brilliant powers of generalization and his aptness in epigram. I also had the pleasure of meeting Senator Fougeirol, a noted advocate of bimetallism.

The visitor to Paris is immediately impressed by the magnificence of the city's boulevards, parks and public squares. There is an elegant spaciousness about the boulevards and squares that surpasses anything I have seen elsewhere.

Parisians assert that the Avenue des Champs Elysees is the finest in the world, and so far as my observation goes I am not prepared to dispute the claim. The beauty of Paris deserves all the adjectives that have been lavished upon it.

One might dwell at length upon the almost endless array of brilliant shop windows where jewelry, bric-a-brac, hats, gowns and mantles are displayed (and I am not surprised that Paris is the Mecca for women), but I desire to refer briefly to the more permanent beauty of Paris—the beauty of its architecture, sculpture and paintings.

Paris' public buildings, ancient and modern, combine solidity with beauty. The statues, columns and arches that adorn the parks and boulevards bespeak the skill of the artists and the appreciation of the public which pays for their maintenance.

Paris' many picture galleries, chief of which are the Louvre and the Luxembourg, contain, as all the world knows, extraordinary collections of treasures of art. The encouragement given by the government to every form of art has made Paris the abode of students from the four corners of the earth.

The huge palaces at Versailles and Fontainebleau are interesting relics of the monarchical period, and they are instructive, also, in that they draw a contrast between the days of the empire and the present time. The extremes of society have been drawn closely together by the growth of democracy, and the officials chosen by the people and governing by authority of the people are much nearer to the people who pay the taxes and support the government than the kings who lived in gorgeous palaces and claimed to rule by right divine.

I have left to the last those reminders of earlier France which are connected with the reigns of Napoleon. You cannot visit Paris without being made familiar with the face of the "Little Corsican," for it stares at you from the shop windows and looks down at you from the walls of palaces and galleries.

You see the figure of "the man of destiny" in marble and bronze, sometimes on a level with the eye, sometimes piercing the sky, as it does in the Place Vendome, where it is perched on top of a lofty column, whose pedestal and sides are covered with panels in relief made from cannon captured by Napoleon in battle.

The gigantic Arch of Triumph on the Champs Elysees, commenced by Napoleon, in commemoration of his successes, testifies to the splendor of his conceptions.

But overshadowing all other Napoleonic monuments is his tomb on the banks of the Seine, adjoining the Invalides. Its gilded dome attracts attention from afar, and on nearer approach one is charmed with the strength of its walls and the symmetry of its proportions.

At the door the guard cautions the thoughtless to enter with uncovered head, but the admonition is seldom necessary, for an air of solemnity pervades the place.

In the center of the rotunda, beneath the frescoed vault of the great dome, is a circular crypt. Leaning over the heavy marble balustrade I gazed on the massive sarcophagus below which contains all that was mortal of that marvelous combination of intellect and will.

The sarcophagus is made of dark red porphyry, a fitly chosen stone that might have been colored by the mingling of the intoxicating wine of ambition with the blood spilled to satisfy it.

Looking down upon the sarcophagus and the stands of tattered battle flags that surround it, I reviewed the tragic career of this grand master of the art of slaughter, and weighed, as best I could, the claims made for him by his friends. And then I found myself wondering what the harvest might have been had Napoleon's genius led him along peaceful paths, had the soil of Europe been stirred by the plowshare rather than by his trenchant blade, and the reaping done by implements less destructive than his shot and shell.

Just beyond and above the entombed emperor stands a cross upon which hangs a life-size figure of the Christ, flooded by a mellow lemon-colored light, which pours through the stained glass windows of the chapel.

I know not whether it was by accident or design that this god of war thus sleeps, as it were, at the very feet of the Prince of Peace.

Whether so intended or not, it will, to those who accept the teachings of the Sermon on the Mount, symbolize love's final victory over force and the triumph of that philosophy which finds happiness in helpful service and glory in doing good.

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No wonder Switzerland is free. The beauty of the country inspires a love of native land and the mountains form a natural fortress behind which the Swiss people could withstand armies many times the size of their own. Nowhere can one find as great a variety of landscape in a day's ride by train as in Switzerland. The road from Berne via Chiasso, on the Italian border, to Italy, passes along the shores of lakes whose transparent waters reflect the precipitous rocks that overhang them; by mountain streams that dash and foam madly as if anxious to escape from the solitude of the hills into the companionship of the larger waters of lake and sea, across the gorges, around the foothills and through the nine-mile tunnel of St. Gothard, which pierces the mountain a mile beneath the summit, and then down into the valleys that widen out from the base of the Alps. The day's enthralling ride reminds one of a cinematographic film, so quickly do the views change and so different is each from the other. Along the lower levels are tiny farms and vineyards, a little higher up are terraced pastures and quaint farm houses, with gabled roofs—often residence and barn are under the same roof! The mountain sides are scarred with chutes down which the peasants drag timber on the snow. One passes through a great variety of climate in descending from the City of Mexico to Vera Cruz, but there one does not see such a succession of picturesque views as greets the eye in the ride across the Alps.

One would suppose that the people of Switzerland could find ample employment in supplying the wants of those who temporarily visit their land, but to the industry of hotelkeeping are added two that have made Switzerland famous throughout the world—watchmaking and wood carving. While watches are manufactured as well and as cheaply in the United States as in Switzerland, this industry is one that makes its presence known in every city of this mountain republic. The genius of the Swiss for wood carving manifests itself in innumerable ways. The cuckoo clock and the bear—the symbol of Switzerland, as the eagle is of the United States—are seen in shop windows everywhere; the bear in innumerable postures, the clock in innumerable sizes. At Berne I found some wooden nut-crackers formed to resemble a head, the lower jaw working as a lever and crushing the nut against the upper jaw. I observed one nut-cracker made to resemble President Roosevelt, and another former Colonial Secretary Chamberlain of England. I presume that the manufacturer intended to suggest that these two statesmen have more nuts to crack just now than any other men of political prominence!

More interesting, however, than its scenery or its industries is the government of Switzerland. It is the most democratic government on the face of the earth, if the word democratic is taken to mean the rule of the people, for in Switzerland the people rule more completely than anywhere else. In some of the small cantons the people meet at stated times and act upon political matters in public meeting, recalling the old town hall meeting of New England. In all the cantons and in the federal government they have the initiative and referendum. The latter has been in use since 1874; the former has been adopted more recently.

From the courteous assistant secretary of state I learned that during the last twenty-nine years 235 federal laws have been submitted to the people by means of the referendum, of which 210 were adopted and twenty-five rejected. The total voting population of Switzerland is about 768,000, and it requires a petition signed by 30,000—less than 5 per cent of the voting population—to secure a referendum vote on any bill. Fifty thousand voters can petition for the enactment of any desired law, and when such a petition is filed the federal legislature can either pass the law or refuse to pass it. If it refuses, however, its action must be passed upon by a referendum vote. Since the existence of this provision six petitions have been presented, and in every case the legislature refused to pass the law demanded by the petitioners. In five cases the people at the referendum vote sustained the legislature; in one case the action of the legislature was overruled by the voters. In this instance the people had petitioned for the passage of a law that would prevent the slaughter of animals for food until after they had been rendered insensible.

I found that the Swiss people are so pleased with the popular control over government, given them by the initiative and referendum, that there is no possibility that any party will attempt to attack it, although there are some that would prefer the representative system freed from the restraint which the initiative and referendum give. Their arguments are, first, that the legislators knowing that the people can initiate legislation feel less responsibility; and, second, that as the legislators' actions can be reviewed by the people, the legislators are more timid about introducing needed reforms. The friends of the initiative and referendum meet these arguments by declaring that the legislators are really not relieved from responsibility, but on the other hand are incited to action by the fact that the people can act in the event that their interests are neglected by the legislature and that the timidity suggested is only likely to prevent legislation when the legislators themselves doubt the merit of the proposed action.

By courtesy of the American minister, Mr. Hill, I had the honor of meeting Dr. Adolphe Deucher, "president of the Swiss confederation," as he is styled. He is of German blood, as his name would indicate, and he is a fine representative of the scholarly, big-hearted Teuton. He is a tall, slender man, of about 60, with a ruddy face, white mustache and scanty white hair. He speaks with frankness and conviction and is as simple in his manners as the humblest of his people. He has been president once before, and has represented his canton in the federal legislature. He lives very unostentatiously, as becomes an official whose salary is only $2,750 a year. He receives $250 a year more than his colleagues in the federal council. Switzerland has no executive mansion and the president lives in a modest hotel.

Three languages are spoken in Switzerland—French, German, Italian. French prevails in the region about Geneva, German in and north of Berne and Italian at the southeast near the Italian border. German is, perhaps, dominant, if any one tongue can be said to dominate, with French and Italian following in the order named. The debates in the federal legislature are conducted in the three tongues, and are reported therein officially. No attempt is made to interfere with the teaching of the language that each of the three communities desires, the cantons being independent in matters of local legislation, just as are the states in our country. There seems to be no jealousy or enmity between the different sections except to the extent of a healthful rivalry between them. The feeling of independence, however, is so strong that no federal government could exist without a clear recognition of the rights of the component states or cantons.

As a nation, Switzerland, with her five million people, does not attract the attention that neighboring nations do, and in a contest at arms, except upon her own soil, she could not hope to achieve much, but in that high form where conscience dictates and where reason rules she is a conspicuous member of the sisterhood of nations. If we believe the world to be making progress toward nobler national ideals, we may expect Switzerland to occupy a position of increasing importance, for the love of liberty that characterizes her people, the democratic character of her institutions and the industry of her citizens all combine to give her assurance of increasing prestige.

I cannot refrain here from giving expression to a thought that has grown upon me since my arrival in Europe. I found our ambassador to England, Mr. Choate, preparing to leave his residence in Carlton House Terrace, London, because of the prospective return of its owner, Lord Curzon, from India. I learned that our ambassadors to France have often found difficulty in finding suitable houses in Paris, while I found that our minister to Switzerland, Mr. Hill, is living in Geneva because he has not been able thus far to find a residence in Berne, the capital. I was also informed that our ambassador to Italy, Mr. Meyer, was compelled to live in a hotel in Rome for a year after his appointment, because he was unable to find a suitable house for the embassy. The trials of our diplomatic representatives in Europe, together with the high rents they are compelled to pay for their residences, have convinced me that we as a people are at fault in not providing permanent and appropriate domiciles for our ambassadors and ministers at foreign capitals. In the great cities of Europe it is not only impossible to rent at a moderate price a house suitable for our embassy, but it is often difficult to secure a convenient location at any price. It is scarcely democratic to place upon an official an expense so great as to preclude the appointment of a man of moderate means; nor does it comport with the dignity of our nation to make the choice of an ambassadorial or ministerial residence dependent upon chance and circumstance. I have been pleased to observe that our representatives in Europe are conspicuous in the diplomatic circle at court functions because of their modest attire, but it is not necessary that our ambassadors' and ministers' homes should be on wheels in order to be democratic. I believe that our government ought to inaugurate a new policy in this matter and build up in the chief capitals of foreign nations on land convenient to the foreign office buildings suitable in every way for the residences and offices of our diplomatic representatives. Such buildings constructed according to a characteristic American style of architecture and furnished like an American home would not only give to our representative a fixed habitation, but would exhibit to the people of the country in which he is accredited the American manner of living. The records of the embassy could be kept more safely in permanent quarters.

As real estate in all the capitals of Europe is rapidly rising in value, land purchased now would become a profitable investment and the rent estimated on the purchase price would be a great deal less than will have to be paid twenty or fifty years from now for a suitable site and buildings conveniently located. It is not wise to confine our diplomatic representation to the circle of the wealthy, and it is much better to furnish our ambassadors and ministers with residences than to increase their salaries.

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I shall treat in this article of my visit to three little kingdoms in the north of Europe—Denmark, Belgium and The Netherlands.

I passed through the edge of Sweden on my way from Berlin to Copenhagen and was at Malmo a short time; but, as it was Christmas day and early in the morning, few stores were open, and I did not have an opportunity to see many people. I had intended to visit Stockholm, the capital of Sweden, but a day's delay in Russia deprived me of that pleasure.

Copenhagen is not only the capital of Denmark, but its commercial metropolis as well. The city has the air of a seaport. The canal leading from the harbor up to the center of the town was crowded with boats which had taken up their winter quarters, and the multitude of masts told of the numbers of those who live upon the ocean.

Denmark is a densely populated country composed of the Jutland peninsula and a number of islands. The land is for the most part level and not much above the sea. The farmers of Denmark have distinguished themselves in several departments of agriculture, especially in butter-making—Danish butter commanding the highest price in London and other large markets.

Copenhagen has some very substantial buildings and an art gallery in which the works of Thorwaldsen, the sculptor, occupy the chief place.

The people of Denmark, while living under an hereditary monarch, have a written constitution, and parliament is the controlling influence in the government. Until recently, the sovereign insisted upon selecting his cabinet ministers to suit himself; but, about three years ago, he yielded to the demand of parliament that the dominant party in that body be permitted to furnish the king's advisers. The change has proven so satisfactory that perfect harmony now exists between the royal family and the legislative body.

King Christian is advanced in years and is so beloved by his people that he goes among them without attendants or guards.

The heir to the throne of Denmark, Prince Frederick, upon whom, by the courtesy of the American minister, Mr. Swensen, I was able to call on Christmas afternoon, is very democratic in his manner, and very cordial in his friendship for America.

If marrying daughters to crowned heads is a test, the late Queen of Denmark was a very successful mother. One of her daughters is mother of the present emperor of Russia, another is wife of the present king of England, and a third is married to one of the smaller kings of Germany. A son, it may be added, is king of Greece.

I had the pleasure of meeting the prime minister and also Professor Matzen, the president of the state university and Denmark's member of The Hague tribunal. He was one of the leading opponents of the transfer of the Danish islands to the United States.

I learned while in Denmark that one of the chief reasons for the opposition to the sale of the Danish islands to the United States was the fact that the United States did not guarantee full citizenship to the inhabitants of those islands. The nation's conduct elsewhere prevented this. Our refusal to give the Porto Ricans and the Filipinos the protection of the constitution is largely to blame for the loss of the Danish islands to our country.

The Danish officials whom I met were deeply interested in the United States, and naturally so, for, like Sweden and Norway, Denmark has sent many sons and daughters to the United States; and these, as have the Swedes and Norwegians, have deported themselves so well as to establish close ties between the mother countries and their adopted land.

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Belgium is a busy hive. Its people are crowded together and are very industrious. The farmers and truck gardeners have reduced agriculture to a fine art and the lace workers are famous for their skill.

Nowhere did I see man's faithful friend, the dog, utilized as in Belgium. He helps to haul the carts along the streets, and his services are so highly prized that large dogs are untaxed, while the small house dog, being an idler, has to contribute his annual quota to the expenses of the government.

The elegance of some of the public buildings and the beauty of the streets of Brussels surprise one, if he has allowed himself to judge Belgium by her dimensions on the map. Historical interest, however, is centered, not in Brussels, but in the battlefield of Waterloo, some miles away. In the summer time, thousands of tourists (among whom, according to the guides, are but few Frenchmen) turn their steps toward this field which witnessed the overthrow of the greatest military genius of his generation, if not of all time.

The scene of carnage is now marked by an enormous artificial mound 130 feet in height and surmounted by an immense stone lion—the Lion of Waterloo. The animal looks toward the point from which Napoleon made his last charge and seems to be watching lest the attack may be renewed. Wellington, upon visiting the battlefield after the erection of this mound, is said to have complained that they had ruined the battlefield to secure dirt for this stupendous pile, and it is true that the surface of the earth in that vicinity has been very much altered. In leveling the knolls they have destroyed one of the most interesting landmarks of the battlefield—the sunken road in which so many of the French soldiers lost their lives. As the guide tells it, Napoleon asked a Belgian peasant if there was any ravine to be crossed between him and the enemy's lines, and the peasant replied in the negative; but when the French rushed over this knoll, they came suddenly and unexpectedly upon a narrow road in a cut about twenty feet deep, and, falling in, filled up the cut until succeeding ranks crossed over on their dead bodies.

The field, as a whole, might be described as a rolling prairie, although the visitor is told of groves no longer standing. At the Hugomond farm, the walls of the house bear evidence of the conflict that raged nearly a century ago, and one is shown the ruins of an old well in which, it is said, the bodies of 300 English soldiers were buried. This portion of the battlefield reminds one somewhat of that portion of the battlefield of Gettysburg which was made famous by Pickett's charge, although there are but few monuments at Waterloo to mark the places occupied by the various brigades and divisions.

At a restaurant near the mound one is shown the chair in which, according to tradition, Wellington sat when he was laying his plans for the last day's battle, and you can, for a franc each, secure bullets warranted to have been found upon the field. It is rumored, however, that some of the bullets now found are of modern make and that thrifty peasants sow them as they do grain, and gather them for the benefit of tourists.

I found Europe agitated by a remark recently made by the emperor of Germany which gave the Prussian troops credit for saving the English and winning the day, but the French are as quick to dispute this claim as the English. The comedians have taken the matter up in the British Isles, and, at one London theatre, an actor dressed as an Englishman, is made to meet a German and, after an exchange of compliments, the English brings down the house by saying: "I beg pardon! It may be a little late, but let me thank you for saving us at Waterloo."

It is hardly worth while for the allies to quarrel over the division of credit. There was glory enough for all—and it required the co-operation of all to overcome the genius and the strategy of Bonaparte.

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Between Waterloo, one of the world's most renowned battlefields, and The Hague, which is to be the home of the Temple of Peace—what a contrast; and yet Belgium and The Netherlands lie side by side! Perhaps the contrast is chronological rather than geographical or racial, for the Dutch have had their share of fighting on their own soil, as they had their part in the victory of 1815. It seems especially appropriate that The Hague should be chosen as the permanent meeting place of the peace tribunal, for it is not only centrally located for European countries, and, being small, is not itself tempted to appeal to arms, but it has long been the home of religious liberty, and its people were pioneers in the defense of the doctrine that rulers exist for the people, not the people for the rulers.

The capital of The Netherlands—The Hague—(the name is taken from the forest that adjoins) is a beautiful little city and will furnish an appropriate setting for the building which Mr. Carnegie's generosity is to provide. Plans are already being prepared for this structure, and one of the officials showed me a picture representing Peace, which may be reproduced upon the ceiling or walls.

In the gallery at Moscow I saw a painting by the great Russian artist, Vereshchagin. It is a pyramid of whitened skulls standing out against a dark background, and is dedicated to "The Warriors of the World." It tells the whole story of war in so solemn, impressive, and terrible a way that Von Moltke is said to have issued an order prohibiting German officers from looking at it when it was exhibited at Berlin.

The emperor of Russia, who has the distinction and the honor of having called together the conference which resulted in The Hague tribunal, might with great propriety contribute to the Temple of Peace this masterpiece of one of his countrymen, portraying so vividly the evils which arbitration is intended to remedy.

One of the members of the arbitration court told me that it was both interesting and instructive to note how the nations appearing before that court emphasized, not so much their pecuniary claims, as the honor of their respective nations and the justice of their acts.

No one can foresee or foretell how great an influence The Hague tribunal will have upon the world's affairs, but it would seem difficult to exaggerate it. It is cultivating a public opinion which will in time coerce the nations into substituting arbitration for violence in the settlement of international disputes; and it ought to be a matter of gratification to every American that our country is taking so active a part in the forwarding of the movement.

But The Hague is not the only place of interest in The Netherlands. The land replevined from the sea by the sturdy Dutch and protected by dykes, the spot immortalized by the temporary sojourn of the Pilgrims, the familiar blue china, the huge wind mills with their deliberate movements, the wooden shoes, and the numerous waterways—all these attract the attention of the tourist.

And the commercial metropolis of Holland,—Amsterdam—what a quaint old city it is! Its more than three hundred canals roaming their way through the city, and its hundreds of bridges, have given to it the name of "The Northern Venice," and it well deserves the appellation. The houses are built on piles, and as many of them are settling, they lean in every direction, some out toward the street, some back, and some toward the side. The houses are so dependent upon each other for support, it is a common saying in that city that if you want to injure your neighbor, you have only to pull down your own house.

Amsterdam is the center of the diamond cutting industry of the world, more than ten thousand hands being employed in that work. As is well known, the Dutch are a rich people, and their commerce, like their mortgages, can be found everywhere.

They have a constitutional monarchy, but they have universal education and parliamentary government, and are jealous of their political rights.

Denmark, Belgium and The Netherlands—three little kingdoms! Small in area, but brimful of people, and these people have their part in the solving of problems with which Europe is now grappling.

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At Berlin I found, as I had at London and Paris, a considerable number of Americans and, as in the other cities, they have organized a society, the object of which is to bring the American residents together for friendly intercourse. At London the group is known as the American Society; at Paris and Berlin the society is known as the American Chamber of Commerce. Through the receptions given by these societies I was able to meet not only the leading American residents, but many foreigners who came as invited guests. Our American residents are evidently conducting themselves well, because I found that they are well liked by the people among whom they are temporarily sojourning. I am indebted to Ambassador Tower and to the American Chamber of Commerce for courtesies extended me at Berlin.

My visit to Germany occurred at Christmas time and while it was for that reason impossible to see the kaiser (much to my regret), I learned something of the German method of observing the great Christian holiday. The German is essentially a domestic man and at Christmas time especially gives himself up to the society of the family, relatives and friends. Christmas coming on Friday, the festivities covered three days, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. The toys—in which Germany abounds—were of endless variety, and the Christmas trees, bending beneath their load, were centers of interest to the young folks. There were dolls and dogs, horses and woolly sheep, cows that give milk, and soldiers—an abundance of soldiers. I saw one cavalry man with a saber in his hand. When he was wound up, the horse would rush forward and the rider would strike with his saber, as if he were keeping watch on the Rhine and in the very act of resisting an attack from the enemy. A little strange that the birthday of the Prince of Peace should be celebrated by the presentation of toys illustrating mimic warfare! But, as in America we are increasing our army and enlarging our navy, we are not in a very good position to take the military mote out of the eye of our friends in the fatherland.

Berlin is a splendid city with beautiful streets, parks and public buildings. It is more modern in appearance than either London or Paris, and there is a solidity and substantialness about the population that explain the character of the emigration from Germany to America. No one can look upon a gathering of average Germans without recognizing that he is in the presence of a strong, intelligent and masterful people. Bismarck has left his impress upon Germany as Napoleon did upon France. An heroic statue of the man of "blood and iron" stands between the reichstag and the column of Victory, which was erected at the close of the Franco-Prussian war. The reichstag is a massive but graceful structure, built some twenty years ago. In one of the corridors I noticed a silk flag which was presented in the seventies by the German women of America. The reichstag proper is a popular body, much like the English parliament, and, as in England, the members do not necessarily reside in the districts they represent. The upper house or bundesrath, is somewhat like our senate in one respect, namely, that it represents the various states that comprise the German empire, but it differs from our senate, first, in that the subdivisions are represented somewhat in proportion to population, and, second, in that the members of the bundesrath are really ambassadors of the several state governments whose credentials can be withdrawn at any time. As all legislation must be concurred in by the bundesrath, as well as by the reichstag, it will be seen that the German government is not nearly so responsive to the will of the people as the governments of England, Denmark and the Netherlands.

In the reichstag they have resorted to a device for saving time in roll call. Each member is supplied with a quantity of tickets, some pink and some white. Each ticket bears on both sides the name of the member. On the white tickets the word "Ja" (yes) appears under the name, on the pink ones "Nein" (no). These ballots are gathered up in vases containing two receptacles, one white and the other pink. The vases are carried through the hall and the votes deposited according to color. As they are deposited in the different receptacles and are distinguished by color, the ballot is quickly taken and counted—in about one-fourth the time, I think, formerly required for roll call. This is a method which our congress might find it convenient to adopt.

It was my good fortune, while in Berlin, to meet Dr. Otto Arendt, the leading bimetallist of Germany. He became a student of the money question while in college, being converted to the double standard by the writings of Cernucshi, the great French economist. Dr. Arendt is a member of the reichstag, from one of the agricultural constituencies. He has represented his government in international conferences and has urged his government to join in an agreement to restore bimetallism, but, like other advocates of the double standard, has found the English financiers an immovable obstruction in the way.

I have for two reasons reserved for this article some comments on the growth of socialism in Europe. First, because Germany was to be the last of the larger countries visited, and, second, because socialism seems to be growing more rapidly in Germany than anywhere else. I find that nearly all the European nations have carried collective ownership farther than we have in the United States. In a former article, reference has already been made to the growth of municipal ownership in England and Scotland, and I may add that where the private ownership of public utilities is still permitted the regulation of the corporations holding these franchises is generally more strict than in the United States. Let two illustrations suffice: Where parliament charters gas and water companies in cities, it has for some years been the practice to limit the dividends that can be earned—any surplus earnings over and above the dividends allowed must be used in reducing the price paid by the consumer. I fear that our money magnates would be at a loss to find words to express their indignation if any such restriction were suggested in America, and yet is it not a just and reasonable restriction?

In the case of railroads, I noticed that there are in England but few grade (or, as they call them, "level") crossings. I am informed that railroad accidents and injuries are not so frequent in England as in the United States.

In Switzerland the government has recently acquired the principal railroad systems. In Holland, Belgium and Denmark also the railroads are largely government roads. In Russia the government owns and operates the roads and I found there a new form of collectivism, namely, the employment of a community physician, who treats the people without charge. These physicians are employed by societies called Zemstro, which have control of the roads and the care of the sick.

In Germany, however, socialism as an economic theory is being urged by a strong and growing party. In the last general election the socialists polled a little more than three million votes out of a total of about nine and a half millions. Measured by the popular vote it is now the strongest party in Germany. The fact that with thirty-one per cent of the vote it only has eighty-one members of the reichstag out of a total of 397 is due, in part, to the fact that the socialist vote is massed in the cities and, in part, to the fact that the population has increased more rapidly in the cities, and, as there has been no recent redistricting, the socialist city districts are larger than the districts returning members of other parties.

George von Vollmar, a member of the reichstag, in a recent issue of the National Review thus states the general purpose of the social democratic party in Germany:

"It is well known that social democracy in all countries, as its name indicates, aims in the first place at social and economic reform. It starts from the point of view that economic development, the substitution of machinery for hand implements, and the supplanting of small factories by gigantic industrial combinations, deprive the worker in an ever increasing degree of the essential means of production, thereby converting him into a possessionless proletarian, and that the means of production are becoming the exclusive possession of a comparatively small number of capitalists, who constantly monopolize all the advantages which the gigantic increase in the productive capacity of human effort has brought about. Thus, according to the social democrats, capital is master of all the springs of life, and lays a yoke on the working classes in particular, and the whole population in general, which ever becomes more and more unbearable. The masses, as their insight into the general trend of affairs develops, become daily more and more conscious of the contrast between the exploiter and the exploited, and in all countries with an industrial development society is divided into two hostile camps, which wage war on each other with ever increasing bitterness.

"To this class-war is due the origin and continuous development of social democracy, the chief task of which is to unite these factions in an harmonious whole which they will direct to its true goal. Industrial combination on a large scale can be converted from a source of misery and oppression into a source of the greatest prosperity and of harmonious perfection, when the means of production cease to be the exclusive appanage of capital and are transferred to the hands of society at large. The social revolution here indicated implies the liberation not only of the proletariat, but of mankind as a whole, which suffers from the decomposing influence of existing class antagonism whereby all social progress is crippled."

One of the most influential of the German socialists, in answer to a series of questions submitted by me, said in substance:

First, the general aim of socialists in Germany is the same as the aim of other socialists throughout the world—namely, the establishment of a collective commonwealth based on democratic equality.

Second, the socialists of Germany have organized a liberal party of unrivaled strength; they have educated the working classes to a very high standard of political intelligence and to a strong sense of their independence and of their social mission, as the living and progressive force in every social respect; they have promoted the organization of trade unions; and have by their incessant agitation compelled the other parties and the government to take up social and labor legislation.

Third, German socialists at present are contending for a legal eight-hour day and for the creation of a labor department in the government, with labor officers and labor chambers throughout the country. In addition to these special reforms, socialists are urging various constitutional and democratic reforms in the states and municipalities—in the latter housing reforms, direct employment of labor, etc.

Fourth, there may be some difference of opinion among socialists in regard to the competitive system, but, being scientific evolutionists, they all agree that competition was at one time a great step in advance and acted for generations as a social lever of industrial progress, but they believe that it has many evil consequences and that it is now being outgrown by capitalistic concerns, whose power to oppress has become a real danger to the community. They contend that there is not much competition left with these monopolies and that as, on the other hand, education and the sense of civic responsibility are visibly growing, and will grow more rapidly when socialism gets hold of the public mind, socialists think that the time is approaching when all monopolies must and can safely be taken over by the state or municipality as the case may be. This would not destroy all competition at once—in industries not centralized some competition might continue to exist. In this respect, also, all socialists are evolutionists, however they may differ as to ways and means and political methods.

Fifth, as to the line between what are called natural monopolies and ordinary industries, the question is partly answered by the preceding paragraph. There is a general consensus of opinion that natural monopolies should, in any case, be owned by the community.

I find that even in Germany there are degrees among socialists—some like Babel and Singer emphasizing the ultimate ends of socialism, while others led by Bernstein are what might be called progressionists or opportunists—that is, they are willing to take the best they can get to-day and from that vantage ground press on to something better. It is certain that the socialists of Germany are securing reforms, but so far they are reforms which have either already been secured in other countries or are advocated elsewhere by other parties as well as by the socialist party.

The whole question of socialism hangs upon the question: Is competition an evil or a good? If it is an evil, then monopolies are right and we have only to decide whether the monopolies should be owned by the state or by private individuals. If, on the other hand, competition is good, then it should be restored where it can be restored. In the case of natural monopolies, where it is impossible for competition to exist, the government would administer the monopolies, not on the ground that competition is undesirable, but on the ground that in such cases it is impossible.

Those who believe that the right is sure of ultimate triumph will watch the struggle in Germany and profit by the lessons taught. I am inclined to believe that political considerations are so mingled with economic theories that it is difficult as yet to know just what proportion of the three million socialist voters believe in "the government ownership and operation of all the means of production and distribution." The old age pension act was given as a sop to the socialists, but it strengthened rather than weakened their contentions and their party. It remains to be seen whether the new concessions which they seem likely to secure will still further augment their strength. The Germans are a studious and a thoughtful people and just now they are absorbed in the consideration of the aims and methods of the socialist movement (mingled with a greater or less amount of governmental reform), and the world awaits their verdict with deep interest.

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The map of Russia makes the other nations of Europe look insignificant by comparison. Moscow is called "The Heart of Russia," and yet the trans-Siberian railway from Moscow to Vladivostok is about 6,000 miles long, nearly one-fourth the circumference of the globe. From St. Petersburg to Sebastopol is more than 2,000 miles, and yet Russia's territory extends much further north than St. Petersburg and much further south than Sebastopol. In a book recently issued by authority of the Russian government, some comparisons are made that give an idea of the immensity of Russia's domain. For instance, Siberia is about one and one-half times as large as Europe, 25 times as large as Germany, and covers one-thirteenth of the continental surface of the globe. Besides having great timber belts and vast prairies, Siberia has a hill and lake region ten times as large as Switzerland, and it is claimed that some of the lakes are as beautiful as those of "The Mountain Republic." Lately the government has been encouraging immigration into the country opened up by the trans-Siberian railway and the success of the movement is shown by the fact that the number of passengers carried on the western section of the road increased from 160,000 in 1896 to 379,000 in 1898, and on the middle section from 177,000 in 1897 to 476,000 in 1898, with a similar increase in freight traffic. The government gives a certain area of land to each settler and, when necessary, advances sufficient money to build homes and barns for the storage of crops and for the purchase of agricultural implements. The territorial greatness of Russia is the first thing that impresses the tourist, and the second is that it is as yet so sparsely settled that it can without fear of crowding accommodate a vast increase in population.

Russia embraces all varieties of climate and resources.

My journey was confined to the northwest portion. I entered the country below Warsaw, went east to Moscow, then north to St. Petersburg and thence southwest to Berlin. This, with the exception of my visit to Tula, gave me my only opportunity to see the people of Russia. They impressed me as being a hardy race and the necessities of climate are such as to compel industry and activity. I never saw elsewhere such universal preparation for cold weather. As yet Russia is almost entirely agricultural, but manufacturing enterprises are continually increasing. The peasants live in villages and for the most part hold their lands in common—that is, the lands belong to the commune or village as a whole and not to the individual. When Alexander freed the serfs the land was sold to them jointly on long-time payments. These payments have in only a few instances been completed, wherefore not many of the peasants own land individually. There is just now much discussion in Russia about the method of holding land. Some contend that communal holding tends to discourage thrift and enterprise, and there is some agitation in favor of individual ownership.

Moscow, the largest city of Russia, has a trifle larger population than St. Petersburg, the capital, which has more than a million. Moscow, which is the commercial center of the empire, gives the casual visitor a much better idea of the characteristic life and architecture of Russia than does St. Petersburg. St. Petersburg, however, is laid out upon a broader, more generous plan, has wider streets, more impressive public buildings and private residences, and there is more evidence of wealth in the capital than in the commercial center. Both cities possess admirable museums and art galleries. The chief gallery of Moscow devotes nearly all its wall space to pictures by Russian artists, and they are sufficient in number to prove Russia's claim to an honorable place in the world of art.

The Hermitage at St. Petersburg, which is an annex of the emperor's palace, contains an extraordinary number of masterpieces of modern and ancient art. The museum of the academy of sciences possesses a remarkable collection of fine specimens, of prehistoric animals, among them mammoths, the largest and best preserved of which was found only a few years ago at the foot of a Siberian glacier.

The visitor to Russia comes away with conflicting emotions. He is impressed by the wonderful possibilities of the country, but is oppressed by the limitations and restrictions which the government places upon individual action and activity. As soon as the traveler reaches the border of Russia his passport is demanded. It is again demanded the moment he arrives at his hotel, and it is demanded and inspected at every place he stops. When he is about to leave the country he must send his passport to the police office and have it indorsed with official permission to depart. Not only is a passport demanded at every place from the foreigner, but native Russians, high and low, must also bear passports and be prepared to submit them for inspection upon demand. Not even officers of the army are exempt from this rigid rule.

The censorship over the press and over private mail is very strict. I brought away with me a copy of Stead's Review of Reviews which had been posted to a subscriber in Russia and which had passed through the hands of the censor. Its pages bore abundant evidence of the care with which he scrutinized foreign publications, for objectionable cartoons, articles and even paragraphs had been made illegible by an obliterating stamp.

The government of Russia, as the world knows, is an autocracy. All power is vested in the emperor, and all authority emanates from him. Being an autocracy, Russia has, of course, no legislative body, such as is now a part of the government of nearly every civilized country on the globe. It has not trial by jury and it knows not the writ of habeas corpus. The custom of exiling or banishing, without trial, persons objectionable to the government is still practiced. A large number of Finns, many of them persons of prominence, have been deported from Finland since the decree of 1899, which limited the self government which the Finns had enjoyed since Russia annexed their country.

While in St. Petersburg I was, by the courtesy of the American ambassador, Mr. McCormick, given an opportunity of meeting and chatting with the czar of all the Russias, Emperor Nicholas II. I found him at his winter residence, the palace of Tsarskoe Selo, which is about an hour's ride from St. Petersburg.

Of all the emperor's palaces, Tsarskoe Selo is his favorite. It stands in a magnificent park which, at this time of year, is covered with snow. The emperor is a young man, having been born in 1868. He is not more than five feet seven or eight inches in height, and apparently weighs about 160 pounds. His figure is slender and erect, his face boyish and his eyes a light blue. His hair, which is blonde, is cut rather short and combed upward over the forehead. The czar wears a mustache and short beard. The general expression of his face is gentle, rather than severe, and he speaks English perfectly. He informed me that about 65 per cent of the adult men of Russia can read and write and that the number is increasing at the rate of about 3 per cent a year. This increase, the czar said, was shown by the recruits to the army, and as these come from all provinces of the empire and all classes of society, he believes it to be a fair test of the people as a whole. The czar declares himself deeply interested in the spread of education among the people and seemed to realize that opportunities for education should be extended to men and women equally. I referred to a decree issued by him about a year ago promising a measure of self-government to the local communities. The czar said: "Yes, that was issued last February, and the plan is now being worked out." He manifested great gratification at the outcome of the proposals submitted by him, which resulted in the establishment of The Hague court of arbitration, and it is a movement of which he may justly feel proud, for while it is not probable that The Hague tribunal will at once end all wars, it is certain to contribute largely to the growth of a sentiment that will substitute the reign of reason for the rule of brute force. The czar spoke warmly of the friendly relations that have existed for years between Russia and the United States. He said that the people of his country had rejoiced in the growth and greatness of the United States. Then, speaking with considerable feeling, the czar said: "The attitude of Russia in the Kischineff affair has been very much misrepresented by some of the newspapers and I wish you would tell your people so when you return to the United States."

The Russian officials deny that the government was in any way responsible for the massacre and I was informed that the government had caused the prosecution and secured the imprisonment of many of those implicated. The emperor showed in his conversation that he respected public opinion in the United States and was anxious that his administration should not rest under condemnation. It seems to be the general opinion of those with whom I had a chance to speak in Russia that the emperor himself is much more progressive and liberal than his official environment. If he were free to act upon his own judgment, it is believed that he would go further and faster than the officeholding class surrounding him in broadening the foundations of government, and from his words and manner during my conversation with him I am inclined to share this opinion.

What Russia most needs today are free speech and a free press—free speech that those who have the welfare of the country at heart may give expression to their views and contribute their wisdom to that public opinion which, in all free countries, controls to a greater or less extent those who hold office. To deny freedom of speech is to question the ability of truth to combat error; it is to doubt the power of right to vindicate itself. A free press would not only enable those in office to see their actions as others see them, but would exercise a wholesome restraint. Publicity will often deter an official from wrong-doing when other restraints would be insufficient, and those who are anxious to do well ought to welcome anything that would throw light upon their path. With free speech and a free press it would not be long before the participation of the Russian people in government would be enlarged, and, with that enlarged share in the control of their own affairs, would come not only contentment, but the education which responsibility and self-government bring. It is impossible to prepare people for self-government by depriving them of the exercise of political rights. As children learn to walk by being allowed to fall and rise and fall and rise again, so people profit by experience and learn from the consequences of their mistakes.

That the Russian people are devoted to their church is evident everywhere. Every village and town has its churches, and the cities have cathedrals, chapels and shrines seemingly innumerable. St. Isaac's cathedral in St. Petersburg is an immense basilica and is ornamented in nave and transept with precious and semi-precious stones. The superb portico is supported by a maze of granite monoliths seven feet in diameter. There is now in process of construction at Moscow a still more elaborate cathedral. Russia is not a good missionary field for two reasons: First, because the people seem wedded to their church, and, second, because no one is permitted to sever his connection with the church.

The child of an orthodox Russian becomes a member of the church of his parents and if he desires to enter another church he must leave the country. If one of the orthodox church marries a member of another church the children must of necessity be reared in the Russian faith. It will be seen, therefore, that the church is very closely connected with the government itself, and quite as arbitrary.

De Tocqueville some fifty years ago predicted a large place for Russia among the nations of Europe and my visit to the great empire of the northeast convinced me that Russia, with universal education, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of religion and constitutional self-government, would exert an influence upon the destinies of the old world to which it would be difficult to set a limit.

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The dominant feature of Rome is the religious feature, and it is fitting that it should be so, for here the soil was stained with the blood of those who first hearkened to the voice of the Nazarene—here a cruel Nero lighted his garden with human torches, little thinking that the religion of those whom he burned would in time illumine the earth.

The fact that the city is the capital of the Catholic world is apparent everywhere. All interest is centered in the Vatican and St. Peter's. The civil government of Italy extends to the nation's borders, but the papal authority of Rome reaches to the remotest corners of the earth. I was anxious to see the man upon whom such vast responsibility rests, and whose words so profoundly influence millions of the human race. Lord Denbigh, of England, had given me a letter of introduction to Cardinal Merry del Val, the papal secretary of state, and armed with this I visited the Vatican. Cardinal del Val is an exceedingly interesting man. He was born of Spanish parents, but one of his grandparents was English, and he is connected by ties of blood with several families of the English nobility. He was educated in England, and speaks that language fluently and without an accent, as he does French, German, Italian and Spanish. His linguistic accomplishments are almost as great as those of the famous Cardinal Mezzofanti. Cardinal del Val is an unusually young man to occupy such an important post—he is not yet forty. He impresses one as a man of rare ability and he possesses extraordinary versatility and a diplomatic training that will make him eminently useful to His Holiness. The papal secretary of state is a tall, slender, distinguished-looking man. His intellectual face is thin and oval; his eyes are large, dark and brilliant, showing his Spanish birth. He received us in his private apartments in the Vatican. They are among the most interesting of the 1,200 rooms in that great building and were once occupied by that famous pope who was a Borgia. The ceilings and walls down to the floor are painted magnificently, the decoration having been done by the hand of a master artist of Borgia's reign. For centuries the suite now occupied by Cardinal del Val had been part of the Vatican library. The beautiful walls were once hidden by a coat of rude whitewash, but the paintings were discovered not long ago and restored once more to view.

Before visiting the Vatican I called upon Monsignor Kennedy, the rector of the American college. Monsignor Kennedy is a learned and an exceedingly agreeable American and under his efficient management the number of students in the college has been doubled within a few years. He enabled me to meet Pope Pius' Maestro di Camera. By the good offices of Cardinal del Val and the Maestro di Camera, it was arranged that I should have a private audience with the Holy Father the following day, Monsignor Kennedy acting as interpreter.

Pope Pius received us in his private room adjoining the public audience chamber, where distinguished Catholics from all over the world were collected and ready to be presented and receive the papal blessing. The private audience room is a rather small apartment, simply, but beautifully furnished and decorated. A throne bearing the papal crown occupied one side of the room. His Holiness greeted us very courteously and cordially. He wore a long white cassock, with a girdle at the waist; the fisherman's ring was on his finger and he wore a small, closely fitting skull-cap of white. I had an opportunity to study his face. It is a round, strong face, full of kindliness and benevolence, but there are not lacking indications that its possessor has a purpose and will of his own. The face is ruddy and the nose rather long—it is straight and not arched. His eyes are large, blue and friendly. The scant hair visible below the skull-cap is white. In stature the Holy Father is about five feet nine or ten inches and his figure is sturdy, but not too heavy. His step is light and gives an impression of strength and good health.

His Holiness has already gained a reputation as a democratic pontiff and enjoys a large and growing popularity with the people. He is an orator and often on Sunday goes into one of the many court yards of the Vatican and preaches to the crowds that gather quite informally. His gestures are said to be graceful and his voice melodious. His manner is earnest and his thoughts are expressed in clear and emphatic language. There is a feeling in Rome that Pius X. is going to be known in history as a reformer—not as a reformer of doctrine, but as one who will popularize the church's doctrine with a view to increasing the heartiness and zeal of the masses in the application of religious truth to everyday life.

I assured his Holiness that I appreciated the opportunity that was his to give impetus to the moral forces of the world, and he replied: "I hope my efforts in that direction will be such as to merit commendation." Answering my statement that I called to present the good will of many Catholic friends as well as to pay my respects, His Holiness asked me to carry his benediction back to them.

If I may venture an opinion upon such brief observation, it is that heart characteristics will dominate the present pontiff's course. He is not so renowned a scholar and diplomat as was his predecessor, nor is he so skilled in statecraft, but he is a virile, energetic, practical religious teacher, charitable, abounding in good works and full of brotherly love. I am confident that he will play an important part in the world-wide conflict between man and mammon.

The world has made and is making great progress in education and in industry. The percentage of illiteracy is everywhere steadily decreasing. The standards of art and taste are rising and the forces of nature are being harnessed to do the work of man. Steam, madly escaping from its prison walls, turns myriad wheels and drags our commerce over land and sea, while electricity, more fleet of foot than Mercury, has become the message-bearer of millions. Even the waves of the air are now obedient to the command of man and intelligence is flashed across the ocean without the aid of wires. With this dominion over nature man has been able to advance his physical well-being, as well as to enlarge his mental horizon, but has the moral development of the people kept pace with material prosperity? The growing antagonism between capital and labor, the lack of sympathy often manifest between those of the same race and even of the same religion, when enjoying incomes quite unequal—these things would seem to indicate that the heart has lagged behind the head and the purse. The restoration of the equilibrium and the infusing of a feeling of brotherhood that will establish justice and good will must be the aim of those who are sincerely interested in the progress of the race. This is pre-eminently the work of our religious teachers, although it is a work in which the laity as well as the clergy must take part.

After meeting Pius X., late the beloved patriarch of Venice, I feel assured that he is peculiarly fitted to lead his portion of the Christian church in this great endeavor.

The Vatican, which serves as the home and executive offices of the supreme pontiff of the Catholic church, is an enormous building, or rather collection of buildings, for it bears evidence of additions and annexes. One might be easily lost in its maze of corridors. The ceilings of the chief apartments are high and, like the walls of the spacious rooms and halls, are covered with frescoes of priceless value. The Vatican adjoins St. Peter's cathedral—or basilica as it is called—a description of whose beauties would fill a volume. The basilica is so harmoniously proportioned that one does not appreciate its vastness from a distance, but once within its walls it is easy to credit the statement that fifty thousand persons can be crowded into it. In a crypt just beneath the great dome is the tomb of St. Peter, about which myriad lamps are kept constantly burning. Near the tomb is a crucifix suspended under a canopy supported by four spiral columns that are replicas of a column elsewhere in the cathedral that is said to have been part of Solomon's temple. Not far from the crucifix is the famous bronze statue of St. Peter, made from a pagan statue of Jupiter. It is mounted upon a pedestal about five feet high and the large toe of the right foot, which projects over the pedestal has been worn smooth by the lips of devout visitors to the basilica.

To me the most remarkable of the splendors of the cathedral were the mosaic pictures, of which there are many of heroic size. These mosaics depict Bible scenes and characters and are done with such marvelous skill that a little way off one can hardly doubt that they are the product of the brush of some great master. The colors, tints and shades are so perfect that it is difficult to believe that the pictures are formed by the piecing together of tiny bits of colored marbles and other stones. The Vatican maintains a staff of artists in mosaic, some of whose work may be purchased by the public. I was shown the masterpiece of Michael Angelo in the cathedral of St. Peter in Vinculo—a statue of Moses, seated. In the right knee there is a slight crack visible and it is tradition that, when the great sculptor had finished his work, he struck the knee with his mallet in a burst of enthusiasm and exclaimed, "Now, speak." St. Paul's cathedral, which stands outside the ancient wall of the city, is of modern construction and is therefore less interesting to the visitor than the great basilica of St. Peter's.

Next to the Vatican and the cathedrals in interest are the ruins of ancient Rome. In England and France I had seen buildings many centuries old; in Rome one walks at the foot of walls that for nearly two thousand years have defied the ravages of time. The best preserved and most stupendous of the relics of "The Eternal City" is the Colosseum. It is built upon a scale that gives some idea of the largeness of Roman conceptions and of the prodigality with which the emperors expended the money and labor of the people. The arena in which the gladiators fought with their fellows and with wild beasts—the arena in which many of the Christian martyrs met their death—is slightly oval in form, the longest diameter being about 250 feet. The arena was so arranged that it could be flooded with water and used for aquatic tournaments. The spectators looked down upon the contests from galleries that rose in four tiers to a height of 150 feet. At one end of the arena was the tribune occupied by the emperor and his suite; at the other end the vestal virgins occupied another tribune and it was their privilege to confer either life or death upon the vanquished gladiators by turning the thumb up or down—turned up it meant life, turned down, death. The Roman populace gained access to the galleries by 160 doors and stairways. The seating capacity of the Colosseum is estimated to have been fifty thousand.

The Forum is even richer than the Colosseum in historic interest and recent excavations have brought to light what are supposed to be the tomb of Cæsar and the tomb of Romulus. The tribune is pointed out from which the Roman orators addressed the multitude. Here Cicero hurled his invectives at Cataline and Mark Antony is by Shakespeare made to plead here for fallen Cæsar. The triumphal arch of Constantine stands at one end of the Forum and is in an excellent state of preservation. Among the carvings lately exhumed are some (especially attractive to an agriculturist) showing the forms of the bull, the sheep and the hog. They are so like the best breeds of these animals to-day that one can scarcely believe they were chiseled from stone nearly twenty centuries ago. In Rome, as in Paris, there is a Pantheon in the familiar style of Greek architecture. In the Roman Pantheon is the tomb of Raphael. Cardinal Bembo, in recognition of Raphael's genius, caused to be placed upon his tomb a Latin epitaph which Hope has translated:

To those who are familiar with Roman history the river Tiber is an object of interest, but here, as is often the case, one feels disappointed in finding that the thing pictured was larger than the reality. The Tiber, yellow as the Missouri, flows through the very heart of Rome and is kept within its channel by a high stone embankment. In and near Rome are many ancient palaces, some of them falling into decay, and some well preserved. One of the most modern of the palaces of the Italian nobles was built by American money, the wife being a member of a wealthy New York family. Part of this palace is now occupied by the American ambassador, Mr. Myer, to whom I am indebted for courtesies extended in Rome. Art galleries and museums are numerous in Rome and in the other cities of Italy, and contain many of the works of the great Italian artists like Raphael, Angelo, Titian and others. The palace of King Victor Emmanuel and the public buildings of Rome are imposing, but do not compare in size or magnificence with the ancient palaces of England and France. The journey from Rome to Venice carried us through a very fertile part of Italy. The land is carefully cultivated; the thrifty farmers in some places have set out mulberry trees for the cultivation of the silk worm and have trained grape vines upon the trees.

We passed through the edge of Venice and saw the gondoliers on the Grand Canal waiting to carry passengers into the city. A very intelligent Italian newspaper correspondent whom I met in Rome informed me that the northern provinces of Italy were much further advanced in education than the southern provinces, but that the people of the south were mentally very alert and with the addition of instruction would soon reach the intellectual level of the north.

My stay in Italy was all too brief and I left with much reluctance this nursery of early civilization—this seat of government of the world's greatest religious organization.

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Count Leo Tolstoy, the intellectual giant of Russia, the moral Titan of Europe and the world's most conspicuous exponent of the doctrine of love, is living a life of quiet retirement upon his estate near the village of Yasnaya, Poliana, about one hundred and thirty miles south of Moscow.

I made a visit to the home of this pleasant philosopher during my stay in Russia, driving from Tula in the early morning and arriving just after daylight. Consul General Smith of Moscow arranged with Count Tolstoy for the visit. I had intended remaining only a few hours, but his welcome was so cordial that my stay was prolonged until near midnight. Count Tolstoy is now about seventy-six years old, and while he shows the advance of years he is still full of mental vigor and retains much of his physical strength. As an illustration of the latter I might refer to the horseback ride and walk which we took together in the afternoon. The ride covered about four miles and the walk about two. When we reached the house the count said that he would take a little rest and insisted that I should do likewise. A few minutes later, when I expressed to the count's physician, Dr. Burkenheim, the fear that he might have overtaxed his strength, the doctor smilingly assured me that the count usually took more exercise, but had purposely lessened his allowance that day, fearing that he might fatigue me.

Count Tolstoy is an impressive figure. His years have only slightly bowed his broad shoulders and his step is still alert. In height he is about five feet eight, his head is large and his abundant hair is not yet wholly white. His large blue eyes are set wide apart and are shaded by heavy eyebrows. The forehead is unusually wide and high. He wears a long, full beard that gives him a patriarchal appearance. The mouth is large and the lips full. The nose is rather long and the nostrils wide. The hands are muscular, and the grasp bespeaks warmth of heart. The count dresses like the peasants of his country, wearing a grayish-blue blouse belted in at the waist, with skirts reaching nearly to the boot-tops. His trousers, also of the peasant style, are inclined to be baggy and are stuffed into his boots. I was informed that the count never wears any other dress, even when other members of the family are entertaining guests in evening clothes.

The room which I occupied was the one used by the count as a study in his younger days, and I was shown a ring in the ceiling from which at the age of forty-eight he planned to hang himself—a plan from which he was turned by the resolve to change the manner and purpose of his life. As is well known, Count Tolstoy is a member of the Russian nobility and for nearly fifty years led the life of a nobleman. He early achieved fame as a novelist, his "War and Peace," which was written when he was but a young man, being considered one of the literary masterpieces of the century. He sounded all the "depths and shoals of honor" in the literary and social world; he realized all that one could wish or expect in these lines, but found that success did not satisfy the cravings of the inner man. While he was meditating upon what he had come to regard as a wasted life, a change came over him, and with a faith that has never faltered he turned about and entered upon a career that has been unique in history. He donned the simple garb of a peasant, and, living frugally, has devoted himself to philosophy and unremunerative work—that is, unremunerative from a financial standpoint, although he declares that it has brought him more genuine enjoyment than he ever knew before. All of his books written since this change in his life have been given to the public without copyright, except in one instance, when the proceeds of "Resurrection" were pledged to the aid of the Russian Quakers, called Doukhobors, whom the count assisted to emigrate from their persecution in Russia to western Canada, where they now reside. As an evidence of the count's complete renunciation of all money considerations, it is stated that he has declined an offer of $500,000 for the copyright of the books written by him before his life current was altered.

My object in visiting him was not so much to learn his views—for his opinions have had wide expression and can be found in his numerous essays—but it was rather to see the man and ascertain if I could, from personal contact, learn the secret of the tremendous influence that he is exerting upon the thought of the world. I am satisfied that, notwithstanding his great intellect, his colossal strength lies in his heart more than in his mind. It is true that few have equaled him in power of analysis and in clearness of statement, while none have surpassed him in beauty and aptness of illustration. But no one can commune with him without feeling that the man is like an overflowing spring—asking nothing, but giving always. He preaches self-abnegation and has demonstrated to his own satisfaction that there is more genuine joy in living for others than in living upon others—more happiness in serving than in being served.

The purpose of life, as defined by him, has recently been quoted by Mr. Ernest Crosby in "The Open Court." It reads as follows:

"Life then is the activity of the animal individuality working in submission to the law of reason. Reason shows man that happiness cannot be obtained by a self-life and leaves only one outlet open for him and that is love. Love is the only legitimate manifestation of life. It is an activity and has for its object the good of others. When it makes its appearance the meaningless strife of the animal life ceases." Love is the dominant note in Count Tolstoy's philosophy. It is not only the only weapon of defense which he recognizes, but it is the only means by which he would influence others. It is both his shield and his sword. He is a deeply religious man, notwithstanding the fact that he was a few years ago excommunicated by the Russian church. In one of his essays he has defined religion as follows:

"True religion is a relation, accordant with reason and knowledge, which man establishes with the infinite life surrounding him, and it is such as binds his life to that infinity, and guides his conduct."

He not only takes his stand boldly upon the side of spiritual, as distinguished from material, philosophy, but he administers a rebuke to those who assume that religious sentiment is an indication of intellectual weakness or belongs to the lower stages of man's development. In his essay on "Religion and Morality," to which he referred me for his opinion on this subject, he says:

"Moreover, every man who has ever, even in childhood, experienced religious feelings, knows by personal experience that it was evoked in him, not by external, terrifying, material phenomena, but by an inner consciousness, which had nothing to do with the fear of the unknown forces of nature—a consciousness of his own insignificance, loneliness and guilt. And, therefore, both by external observation and by personal experience, man may know that religion is not the worship of gods, evoked by superstitious fear of the invisible forces of nature, proper to men only at a certain period of their development; but is something quite independent either of fear or of their degree of education—a something that cannot be destroyed by any development of culture. For man's consciousness of his finiteness amid an infinite universe, and of his sinfulness (i. e., of his not having done all he might and should have done) has always existed and will exist as long as man remains man."

If religion is an expression of "man's consciousness of his finiteness amid an infinite universe, and of his sinfulness," it cannot be outgrown until one believes himself to have reached perfection and to possess all knowledge, and observation teaches us that those who hold this opinion of themselves are not the farthest advanced, but simply lack that comprehension of their own ignorance and frailty which is the very beginning of progress.

Count Tolstoy is an advocate of the doctrine of non-resistance. He not only believes that evil can be overcome by good, but he denies that it can be overcome in any other way. I asked him several questions on the subject, and the following dialogue presents his views:

Q. Do you draw any line between the use of force to avenge an injury already received, and the use of force to protect yourself from injury about to be inflicted?

A. No. Instead of using violence to protect myself, I ought rather to express my sorrow that I had done anything that would make anyone desire to injure me.

Q. Do you draw a line between the use of force to protect a right and the use of force to create a right?

A. No. That is the excuse generally given for the use of violence. Men insist that they are simply defending a right, when, in fact, they are trying to secure something that they desire and to which they are not entitled. The use of violence is not necessary to secure one's rights; there are more effective means.

Q. Do you draw any distinction between the use of force to protect yourself and the use of force to protect someone under your care—a child, for instance?

A. No. As we do not attain entirely to our ideals, we might find it difficult in such a case not to resort to the use of force, but it would not be justifiable, and, besides, rules cannot be made for such exceptional cases. Millions of people have been the victims of force and have suffered because it has been thought right to employ it; but I am now old and I have never known in all my life a single instance in which a child was attacked in such a way that it would have been necessary for me to use force for its protection. I prefer to consider actual rather than imaginary cases.

I found later that this last question had been answered in a letter on non-resistance addressed to Mr. Ernest Crosby, in 1896 (included in a little volume of Tolstoy's Essays and Letters recently published by Grant Richards, Leicester Square, London, and reprinted by Funk & Wagnalls of New York). In this letter he says:

"None of us has ever yet met the imaginary robber with the imaginary child, but all the horrors which fill the annals of history and of our own times came and come from this one thing—that people will believe that they can foresee the results of hypothetical future actions."

When I visited him he was just finishing an introduction to a biographical sketch of William Lloyd Garrison, his attention having been called to Garrison by the latter's advocacy of the doctrine of non-resistance.

Tolstoy, in one of his strongest essays that he has written—an essay entitled "Industry and Idleness"—elaborates and defends the doctrine advanced by a Russian named Bondaref, to the effect that each individual should labor with his hands, at least to the extent of producing his own food. I referred to this and asked him for a brief statement of his reasons. He said that it was necessary for one to engage in manual labor in order to keep himself in sympathy with those who toil, and he described the process by which people first relieve themselves of the necessity of physical exertion and then come to look with a sort of contempt upon those who find it necessary to work with their hands. He believes that a lack of sympathy lies at the root of most of the injustice which men suffer at the hands of their fellows. He holds that it is not sufficient that one can remember a time when he earned his bread in the sweat of his brow, but that he must continue to know what physical fatigue means and what drudgery is, in order that he may rightly estimate his brother and deal with him as a brother. In addition to this he says that, when one begins to live upon the labor of others, he is never quite sure that he is earning his living. Let me quote his language: "If you use more than you produce you cannot be quite content, if you are a conscientious man. Who can know how much I work? It is impossible. A man must work as much as he can with his hands, taking the most difficult and disagreeable tasks, that is, if he wishes to have a quiet conscience. Mental work is much easier than physical work, despite what is said to the contrary. No work is too humble, too disagreeable, to do. No man ought to dodge work. If I dodge work I feel guilty. There are some people who think they are so precious that other people must do the dirty, disagreeable work for them. Every man is so vain as to think his own work the most important. That is why I try to work with my hands by the side of workingmen. If I write a book, I cannot be quite sure whether it will be useful or not. If I produce something that will support life, I know that I have done something useful."

Tolstoy presents an ideal, and while he recognizes that the best of efforts is but an approach to the ideal, he does not consent to the lowering of the ideal itself or the defense of anything that aims at less than the entire realization of the ideal. He is opposed to what he calls palliatives, and insists that we need the reformation of the individual more than the reformation of law or government. He holds that the first thing to do is to substitute the Christian spirit for the selfish spirit. He likens those who are trying to make piecemeal progress to persons who are trying to push cars along a track by putting their shoulders against the cars. He says that they could better employ their energy by putting steam in the engine, which would then pull the cars. And the religious spirit he defines as "such a belief in God and such a feeling of responsibility to God as will manifest itself both in the worship of the Creator and in the fellowship with the created."

During the course of conversation he touched on some of the problems with which the various nations have to deal. Of course he is opposed to war under all circumstances, and regards the professional soldier as laboring under a delusion. He says that soldiers, instead of following their consciences, accept the doctrine that a soldier must do what he is commanded to do, placing upon his superior officer the responsibility for the command. He denies that any individual can thus shift the responsibility for his conduct. In speaking of soldiers, he expressed an opinion that indicates his hostility to the whole military system. He said that soldiers insisted upon being tried by military men and military courts, and added: "That is amusing. I remember that when that plea was made in a case recently, I retorted that if that was so, why was not a murderer justified in demanding a trial at the hands of murderers, or a burglar in demanding trial by a jury of burglars. That would be on all fours with the other proposition."

He is not a believer in protection, and regards a tariff levied upon all of the people for the benefit of some of the people as an abuse of government and immoral in principle. I found that he was an admirer of Henry George and a believer in his theory in regard to the single tax.

He is opposed to trusts. He says that the trust is a new kind of despotism and that it is a menace to modern society. He regards the power that it gives men to oppress their fellows as even more dangerous than its power to reap great profits.

He referred to some of our very rich men and declared that the possession of great wealth was objectionable, both because of its influence over its possessor and because of the power it gave him over his fellows. I asked him what use a man could make of a great fortune, and he replied: "Let him give it away to the first person he meets. That would be better than keeping it." And then he told how a lady of fortune once asked his advice as to what she could do with her money (she derived her income from a large manufacturing establishment), and he replied that if she wanted to do good with her money she might help her work-people to return to the country, and assist them in buying and stocking their farms. "If I do that," she exclaimed in dismay, "I would not have any people to work for me, and my income would disappear."

As all are more or less creatures of environment, Tolstoy's views upon religion have probably been colored somewhat by his experience with the Greek church. He has, in some instances, used arguments against the Greek church which are broad enough to apply to all church organizations. He has not always discriminated between the proper use of an organization and the abuse of power which a large organization possesses. While animated by a sincere desire to hasten the reign of universal brotherhood, and to help the world to a realization of the central thought of Christ's teachings, he has not, I think, fully appreciated the great aid which a church organization can lend when properly directed. In the work in which Tolstoy is engaged, he will find his strongest allies among church members to whom the commandment "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself" is not merely sound philosophy, but a divine decree. These will work in the church and through the church, while he stands without raising his voice to the same God and calling men to the same kind of life.

His experience with the arbitrary methods of his own government has led him to say things that have been construed as a condemnation of all government. He has seen so much violence and injustice done in the name of government that it is not strange that the evils of government should impress him more than its possibilities for good. And yet those who believe that a just government is a blessing can work with him in the effort to secure such remedial measures as he asks for in his letter "To the Czar and His Assistants."

Tolstoy's career shows how despotic is the sway of the heart and how, after all, it rules the world, for while his literary achievements have been admired, the influence which they have exerted is as nothing compared with the influence exerted by his philosophy. People enjoy reading his character sketches, his dialogues and his descriptions of Russian life, but these do not take hold upon men like his simple presentation of the doctrine of love, exemplified in his life as clearly as it is expressed by his pen. Many of his utterances are denied publication in Russia, and when printed abroad cannot be carried across the border, and yet he has made such a powerful impression upon the world that he is himself safe from molestation. He can say with impunity against his government and against the Greek church what it would be perilous for others to say, and this very security is proof positive that in Russia thought inspired by love is, as Carlyle has declared it to be everywhere, stronger than artillery parks.

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In the articles written on the different European nations visited I confined myself to certain subjects, but there are a number of things worthy of comment which were not germane to the matters discussed. I shall present some of these under the above head.

An American who travels in England in the winter time is sure to notice the coldness of the cars. The English people do not seem to notice this, for if they did the matter would certainly be remedied; but the stranger who has to wrap up in blankets and keep his feet upon a tank of hot water makes comparisons between the comfort of the American railway cars and those of England, much to the disadvantage of the latter. On the continent the temperature of the cars is higher and travel more pleasant.

Sheep graze in the very suburbs of London. This was a surprise to me. I saw more sheep in the little traveling that I did in England than I have seen in the United States east of the Mississippi River in years of travel. But after one has enjoyed for a few days the English mutton chop, the best in the world, he understands why English sheep are privileged to graze upon high priced lands.

The House of Lords is much more elegantly furnished than Parliament, but it excites curiosity rather than interest. It, too, is small compared with the number of Lords; but as the Lords seldom attend, the accommodations are ample. Only three members are required to constitute a quorum, and it is easy therefore to get together enough to acquiesce in measures that pass Parliament. So far as any real influence is concerned, the House of Lords might as well be abolished; and as only three are necessary to constitute a quorum, it would only be necessary to reduce the necessary number by three and make none a quorum to entirely remove this legislative body from consideration.

The Courts of England are a matter of interest to American lawyers, and a matter of curiosity to other Americans. As our Supreme Judges wear gowns, the gown is not so unfamiliar to us; but the wig, which is still worn by the English judges, barristers and solicitors, is not seen in this country. The wig is made of white curly hair and does not reach much below the ears. "When the wearer has black hair, or red hair, or in fact hair of any color except, white, the contrast between the wig and the natural hair sometimes excites a smile from those who are not impressed with the necessity for this relic of ancient times. In one of the court rooms which I visited, a son of Charles Dickens was arguing a case, and while I did not recognize any of the brilliancy and humor that have led me to place Dickens at the head of the novelists whom I have read, the son is said to be a reasonably successful lawyer. In one of the Admiralty Courts a very bushy headed wharfman was testifying to a salvage contract which he had made and he was quite emphatic in his assertions that the terms were "'alf and 'alf."

In one of the court rooms Lord Alverstone was presiding, and I had the pleasure of meeting him afterwards at dinner in Lincoln Inn Court. He is one of the finest looking men whom I met in England. He rendered a decision in favor of the United States in the matter of the recent arbitration with Canada.

Ambassador Joseph Choate placed me under obligations to him, as did also Secretary of the Legation Henry White, by their many courtesies extended.

At Mr. Choate's table I had the pleasure of meeting Right Hon. A. J. Balfour, the present Premier. He strikes one as a scholarly man rather than as a parliamentary fighter. He has had a remarkable official career. As he was and is still a bimetallist, I found him a congenial man to have at my right. Mr. Richie, who left the Cabinet because of a disagreement with Mr. Balfour on the fiscal question, sat at my left, and as he was an ardent opponent of protection, I had no trouble conversing with him. I learned afterwards that Mr. Balfour and Mr. Richie had not met since the Cabinet rupture. Among those present at the table was Hon. Leonard Courtney, for many years a member of Parliament. He was a member of the Royal Commission that presented the now world renowned report on falling prices. He also took an active part in opposing the war against the Boers. In appearance he reminds one of Senator Allen G. Thurman, having something of the same strength and ruggedness of feature. I am indebted to him for an opportunity to visit Lincoln Inn Court, where I met a number of other eminent judges besides Lord Alverstone.

Mr. Moreton Frewen was also a guest of Ambassador Choate on that occasion. He has frequently visited the United States and has written much on the subject of silver. When he came to the United States soon after the election in 1896, and was told that there had been some repeating in some of the cities, he inquired, "Is it not twice as honest to vote twice for honest money as to vote once?" I found, however, that he was working with the Chamberlain protectionists, who, by the way, call themselves "tariff reformers." He had found a Bible passage which he was using on the stump. It was taken from Genesis. Pharaoh said to someone who inquired of him, "Go unto Joseph; what he saith to you, do." It seems, however, from the more recent elections, that the people have refused to identify the modern Joseph with the ancient one.

At Mr. Choate's table the subject of story telling was discussed, and some comment made about the proverbial slowness of the Englishman in catching the point of American stories. I determined to test this with a story and told of the experience of the minister who was arguing against the possibility of perfection in this life. He asked his congregation: "Is there anyone here who is perfect?" No one arose. "Is there anyone in the congregation who has ever seen a perfect person?" No one arose. Continuing his inquiry, he asked, "Is there anyone here who has ever heard of a perfect person?" A very meek little woman arose in the rear of the room. He repeated his question to be sure that she understood, and as she again declared that she had heard of such a person, he asked her to give the name of the perfect person of whom she had heard. She replied, "My husband's first wife." All the Englishmen at the table saw the point of the story at once, and one of them remarked that he thought the story would be appreciated wherever domestic life is known.

It was my good fortune to meet in London Mr. Sidney Webb and his talented wife, both of whom have written extensively on municipal ownership and industrial co-operation.

One of the most interesting figures in European journalism is Sir Alfred Harmsworth, proprietor of the London Daily Mail. He has achieved a remarkable success and is still a young man. His country home, some thirty miles out from London, is an old English castle which he recently secured for a long term of years. The house was built more than three hundred years ago by one of the kings for a favorite courtier. The estate is large enough to include farm and pasture lands and a well stocked hunting preserve. Lady Harmsworth is one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom and entertains lavishly.

The average foreigner does not have any higher opinion than the American does of those "international marriages" by means of which some of the decaying estates of titled foreigners are being restored, but there are many marriages between our people and Europeans which rest upon affection and congeniality. The union of Rt. Hon. Joseph Chamberlain and the daughter of Ex-Secretary Endicott, who was at the head of the Navy Department during Mr. Cleveland's first administration, is a notable illustration. Mrs. Chamberlain is a charming and accomplished woman and justly popular with the Britons as well as with the Americans who visit England.

The American tourist is sure to find some of his countrymen stranded in London. I met several of them. Most of them represented themselves as related to prominent political friends, and these I could assist without inquiring too closely into the alleged relationship, but one case of a different kind failed to appeal to me. A lady who attached a high sounding title to her name sent her secretary to solicit aid. He represented her as an American who had against her parents' wishes married a titled Englishman; her husband had deserted her and her physician had told her that her health required that she spend the winter in Southern France. Her American relatives were rich, I was assured, but she was too proud to let them know of her misfortune. It was a sad story even when told by a secretary (how she could afford one I do not know), but I did not feel justified in encouraging a pride that led her to make her wants known to strangers rather than to her own kin.

In my article on the growth of municipal ownership (it will be found on another page), I referred to the work of John Burns, the noted labor leader of London. I may add here that his seven or eight years old son is the handsomest child that I saw in England. I was on the stage at Lord Rosebery's meeting and my attention was attracted to a child of unusual beauty sitting just in front of me. I asked the gentleman at my side whether he was a fair sample of the English boy; he replied that he was an excellent representative. Soon afterward the mother introduced herself to me as the wife of John Burns. I thought it an interesting coincidence that I should admire the child unconscious of his relationship to the man who had the day before impressed me so favorably.

And, speaking of Mr. Burns, I reproduce below an item which appeared in one of the London papers the day after I returned Mr. Burns' call. He sent it to me with the remark that it probably differed from the personal items to which I was accustomed. It reads:—

"Mr. Burns' Mysterious Visitor.

"Just before ten o'clock this (Friday) morning a hansom cab (plentifully bespattered with gilt coronets) stopped outside the residence of Mr. Burns, Lavender Hill. A person alighted and was received with every appearance of cordiality by Mr. Burns, who escorted him into the house. We believe the visitor was Lord Rosebery; he certainly bore a striking resemblance to that childlike peer. Possibly, however, it was only the King of Italy. In diplomatic circles it has been known for a long time that his Italian Majesty intended to visit the Municipal Mecca for much the same reasons that induced Peter the Great of Russia to come to England. It was known, also, that he would come in some sort of disguise. That Mr. Burns' visitor this morning was a person of importance is evidenced by the fact that a constable in uniform and two or three other men (probably secret service officers) were in waiting when the cab drew up. They stood round the visitor and the constable saluted respectfully. A uniformed policeman had been in the neighborhood of Mr. Burns' house and the 'Crown' all the morning."[14]

Westminster Abbey is one of the places which the visitor cannot well neglect. It was originally the burial place of royalty, and as the guide shows you the tablets and statues which perpetuate the memory of warrior kings and tells you how this king killed that one, and that king killed another, you recall the story of the American minister who concluded a very short discourse at the funeral of a man of questionable character by saying, "Some believe that he was a tolerable good man, while others believe that he was a very bad man, but whether he was good or bad we have this consolation, that he is dead." It is a relief to pass from the bloody annals of the earlier days and from the bloody deeds of ancient royalty to that part of the building which is honored by memorials of the great men in modern English life. To the American the most noted of those recently buried in Westminster Abbey was Gladstone. His life spanned the present and the past generation, and his character and talents are regarded as a part of the heritage of English speaking people.

A description of the Art Gallery, the public buildings, the Tower, and of the many interesting and historic places would occupy more space than I can spare at this time.

I shall pass from England with one observation. Upon the streets of London, and in fact throughout the British Isles, the rule is to "turn to the left." The American notices this at once, and until he becomes accustomed to it he is in danger of collision. If England and the United States ever come together in an unfriendly way, it will probably be accounted for by the difference in our rules. We will be turning to the right while she will be turning to the left.

Queenstown, Ireland, the first town to greet the tourist when he reaches Northern Europe and the last to bid him farewell when he departs, is a quaint and interesting old place. It is near the City of Cork, and the names upon the signs—the Murphys, the McDonalds, the O'Briens, etc., are so familiar that one might suppose it to be an American colony. Here the returning traveler has a chance to spend any change which he has left, for black thorn canes and shillalahs, "Robert Emmett" and "Harp of Erin" handkerchiefs and lace collars are offered in abundance. The price of these wares has been known to fall considerably as the moment of departure approaches. At Queenstown one can hear the Irish brogue in all its richness and if he takes a little jaunt about the town he can enjoy the humor for which the Irish are famed.

Scotland has a hardy population, due probably to the climate. Even near the southern boundary, the weather was quite wintry before Thanksgiving Day of last year. Scotch plaids are in evidence at the stores and the visitor has an opportunity to buy traveling blankets bearing the figures and the colors of the various Scottish clans. As I visited Scotland to study municipal ownership I reserved for a future trip a visit to the places of natural and historic interest.

Strange that a narrow channel should make such a difference as there is between the Englishman and the Frenchman. Some one has said, "not only is England an island, but each Englishman is an island." This puts the case a little too strongly, but one notices that the French are much more gregarious than the English and more inclined to sociability. Their attention to strangers while not more sincere is more marked.

Paris seems to be the favorite place for residence for Americans who desire to live in Europe. The climate is milder, the attractions are more numerous and the cooking, it is said, is the best in the world.

The automobile seems to have captured Paris, possibly because of its many wide streets and boulevards.

While the tipping system may not be worse in France than in other countries, it is certainly nowhere more fully developed. It is said that in some of the fashionable restaurants of Paris the tips are so valuable that the waiters, instead of receiving wages, pay a bonus for a chance to serve. But all over Europe service of every kind is rewarded with tips, and a failure to comply with the custom makes the delinquent a persona non grata. At the hotels all the attendants seem to get notice of the intended departure of a guest and they line up to receive a remembrance—porter, chambermaid, valet, bell-boy, elevator man, and some whose faces are entirely new to the guest. The cab-drivers collect the fare fixed by city ordinance and expect a tip besides. Ten per cent is the amount usually given and anything less fails to elicit thanks. An Irish jaunting car driver at Queenstown took out his tip in making change. While the traveler is often tempted to rebel against the tip system as it is found in Europe, he finally concludes that he can not reform a continent in one brief visit and submits with as good grace as possible.

Guides can be found at all the leading hotels and they are well worth what they charge. They are acquainted with all places of interest, and can act as interpreters if one wants to make inquiries or do shopping.

The rivers of Europe which have been immortalized in poetry and song—the rivers whose names we learn when as children we study geography—are a little disappointing. The Thames at London, the Seine at Paris, the Tiber at Rome, the Danube at Vienna, the Spree at Berlin, the Po in northern Italy, and the Rhine are not as large as fancy has pictured; but the lakes of Switzerland surpass description.

I regretted that I could not visit the Bay of Naples for I never think of it without recalling the lines:

Surely it must be a delightfully restful place if it justifies the description given by the poet.

I was disappointed that I did not have time to see more of Germany. Berlin was the only city in which I stopped, and the fact that the holiday festivities were at their height made it difficult to prosecute any investigation. In another article I have discussed the German socialistic propaganda, and I shall here content myself with calling attention to their railroad system. The total railroad mileage at the end of the year 1900, as reported by the American consul, was 28,601. Of this mileage private companies owned 2,573, and the federal government 798, the remainder was owned by the various German states, some of the states owning but a few miles of line. The ownership of the railroads by the various states does not in the least interfere with the operation of the lines. The plan in operation in Germany suggests the possibility of state ownership in this country as distinguished from federal ownership.

In Austria I saw for the first time the systematic cultivation of forests. In some places the various plantings were near enough together to show trees of all sizes. At one side the trees were but a few feet in height while those at the other side of the forest were being converted into fuel.

Vienna, the capital of Austria, is not the "Old Vienna" which was reproduced at the Chicago World's Fair and at the Buffalo Exposition, but is a substantial, new, and up-to-date city. The stores exhibit an endless variety of leather goods, and I found there, as also in Belgium, many novelties in iron, steel and brass.

Russia deserves more attention than I could give it in the articles on Tolstoy and the czar. It is a land of wonderful resources and possibilities, and is making great progress considering the fact that a large proportion of the population has so recently emerged from serfdom. The peasants live in villages as in France and their life is primitive compared with life in the larger cities. There has been rapid growth in manufacturing, commerce and art. Besides furnishing one of the greatest of novelists, Tolstoy, who is also the greatest of living philosophers, Russia has given to the world many others who are prominent in literature and in art. There is an art gallery at Moscow devoted almost entirely to the work of Russian artists. Here one finds a most interesting collection, a large number of the pictures being devoted to home scenes and historic events. In this gallery the nude in art is noticeable by its absence. In the art gallery at St. Petersburg most of the paintings are by foreign artists. There is in this gallery a wonderful collection of cameos, jewelry and precious stones.

I found in Russia a very friendly feeling toward the United States. Prince Hilkoff, who is at the head of the Siberian railroad, speaks English fluently, as do nearly all the other prominent officials. He informed me that he visited the United States about 1858 and crossed the plains by wagon. He inquired about the Platte river and its branches and remembered the names of the forts along the route.

I have spoken in another article of the deep hold which the Greek Church has upon the people of Russia. A story which I heard in St. Petersburg illustrates this. An American residing there asked her cook to go to market after some pigeons, or doves as they are more often called. The latter was horrified at the thought and refused, saying, "The Holy Ghost descended upon our Saviour in the form of a dove and it might be in one of these." Another American was rebuked by her servant, who when told to throw something out of the window replied, "This is Easter and Christ is risen. He might be passing by at this moment."

In Russia we find the extremes. The government is the most arbitrary known among civilized nations and yet in Russia are to be found some of the most advanced and devoted advocates of civil liberty. Nowhere is the doctrine of force more fully illustrated and yet from Russia come the strongest arguments in favor of non-resistance. The poison and the antidote seem to be found near together in the world of thought as well as in the physical world.

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